THE 

LEPROSY 
OF 
MIRIAM 


• 


THE  LEPROSY  OF  MIRIAM. 


BY 

UKSULA  N.  GESTEFELD. 


NEW  YORK. 

THE  GESTEFELD  LIBRARY  &  PUBLISHING  CO. 
1894. 


Copyright,  1894, 
URSULA  N.  GESTEFELD. 


All  rights  reserved. 


DEDICATION. 

To  my  friend  K.  S.  P.,  whose  never-ceasing  helpfulness  in  the 
world  of  her  environment  counts  her  as  one  Who  "hath  done 
what  she  could,"  and  makes  her  an  inspiration  for  those  who  are 
doing  what  she  would. 


2229003 


FOREWORD. 

IN  the  Jewish  history  of  the  Old  Testament  is  found 
a  people  which  has  come  out  from  an  environment 
made  hateful  by  generations  of  bondage,  and  has  set 
its  face  toward  a  promised  land  of  freedom. 

This  journey  of  the  Children  of  Israel  illustrates  the 
progress  of  the  human  soul,  which  is  to  outgrow  the 
bondage  of  the  flesh  and  reach  the  freedom  of  the 
spirit.  It  is  typical  of  the  individual  and  universal 
development  recognized  to-day  as  the  continuity  of 
evolution,  which,  crossing  the  line  of  demarcation  be- 
tween shapes  and  souls,  is  to  some  time  bring  the  high- 
est species  of  the  genus  Man. 

In  this  journey  the  people,  though  they  have  "tri- 
umphed gloriously,"  are  halted  for  a  season  through 
what  befalls  Miriam.  For  having  "  spoken  against " 
Moses,  she  is  stricken  with  leprosy  and  shut  out  from 
the  camp,  "  and  the  people  journeyed  not  till  Miriam 
was  brought  in  again." 

The  progress  of  the  human  race  is  limited  by  the  de- 
velopment and  position  of  its  women.  Naturally  the 
perceptive  and  intuitive  half  of  Man,  woman's  preroga- 
tive and  possibilities  have  been  obscured  by  the  mascu- 
line intellect.  Stimulated  partly  by  the  inherent  vital- 
ity of  her  own  nature  and  by  the  force  of  masculine 

5 


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example,  she  has  taken  the  forward  strides  which  have 
produced  the  typical  nineteenth  century  product — the 
intellectually  developed  woman,  self-reliant,  positive, 
forceful. 

She  is  strongly  en  evidence  to-day,  a  factor  in  the 
body  politic  to  be  reckoned  with,  not  ignored.  She  is 
no  religionist,  because  she  sees  the  mistake  of  being  a 
mere  emotionalist.  She  is  becoming — has  become 
agnostic.  Failing  to  recognize  that  part  of  our  dual 
nature  which  is  the  true  leader  to  higher  things,  and 
because  of  her  intellectual  ambition — "  speaking  against 
Moses  " — she  has  been  smitten  with  the  leprosy  of  scien- 
tific ( ?)  materialism.  And  thus  she  is  "  as  one  dead  " 
because  not  alive  to  her  own  higher  nature  and  true 
office. 

Truly,  the  people  may  not  journey  further  till  she  is 
received  in  again.  Past  glories  were  good,  present 
glories  are  better,  the  best  are  yet  to  come.  Foreshad- 
o wings  are  with  us.  The  sixth  sense  which  marks  a 
higher  species  is  beginning  to  appear.  It  is  feminine, 
and  it  pertains  to  the  "divine  womanly  which  ever 
leads  us  on."  The  intellectual  womanly,  blind  to  the 
divine,  halts  us  in  the  wilderness. 

URSULA  N.  G-ESTEFELD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  HUMMING  rustling  crowd  filled  the  fashionable 
church  of  Benton.  It  was  within  a  few  minutes  of 
the  time  appointed  for  the  marriage  ceremony. 

Friends  of  the  bride  weighed  and  measured  friends 
of  the  bridegroom.  Friends  of  the  bridegroom  sur- 
veyed and  criticized  the  friends  of  the  bride.  Perme- 
"ating  the  general  expectation  was  a  parry-and-thrust 
atmosphere  perfumed  with  the  aroma  which  always 
clings  around  a  wedding. 

In  one  of  the  pews  far  enough  from  the  altar  to 
mark  its  occupants  as  related  to  the  contracting  parties 
socially  rather  than  by  blood,  was  seated  a  man  who 
surveyed  the  scene  with  well-bred  indifference  and  an 
occasional  raising  of  the  eyebrows  as  remarks  intended 
for  the  speakers'  neighbors  reached  his  ear  from  differ- 
ent directions. 

"She  was  just  dying  for  him,  you  know,  long  be- 
fore—" 

"Her  family  were  much  opposed  to  the  match, 
and—" 

11  He  seems  to  almost  worship  her,  but — " 

"I've  seen  most  of  her  trousseau  and  it  does  not 
compare  with — " 

"  She's  one  of  the  sweetest  girls  I  know,  and  I  do 
hope—" 

7 


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"  Papa  does  not  believe  he'll  ever  amount  to  much, 
and—" 

The  organ  began  to  breathe  soft  strains  into  the 
conglomerate  atmosphere,  a  precursor  of  that  harmony 
which  is  to  survive  discord,  unnoticed  by  many  in  their 
eager  vivisection  even  as  the  grand  purpose  and  order 
which  underlie  the  turmoil  and  froth  of  our  daily  life 
unfold  unheeded.  The  strains  swelled  louder  and  he 
turned  with  the  rest  toward  the  door  through  which 
the  bridal  party  was  to  enter,  in  time  to  see  the  bride 
upon  her  guardian's  arm. 

His  gaze  followed  her  and  her  attendants  as  they 
took  their  places  before  the  altar.  The  exhortations 
and  injunctions  of  the  marriage  ceremony  fell  upon 
deaf  ears,  the  sense  of  hearing,  with  most  of  those 
present,  being  absorbed  in  that  of  sight  and  curiosity. 

From  the  distance  the  bride  was  an  enchanting 
statue  of  white  mystery.  Those  near  by  saw  the  flush 
upon  her  cheek  and  the  tremulousness  of  her  delicate 
mouth  which  revealed  her  repressed  emotion,  the  sol- 
emnity which  overspread  her  face  as  the  impressive 
tones  of  the  officiating  clergyman  resounded  in  the 
sanctuary. 

In  marked  contrast  to  his  bride  were  the  attitude  and 
expression  of  the  bridegroom.  His  face  wore  a  look 
as  near  triumph  as  a  sense  of  his  surroundings  allowed, 
an  almost  exultant  satisfaction  which  seemed  less  like 
the  recognition  of  a  developed  and  strong  manhood 
than  the  temporary  impulse  of  a  child. 

As  they  turned  from  the  altar  to  retrace  their  steps, 
wedded  husband  and  wife,  the  gazer  in  the  pew  looked 
at  him  intently,  the  corners  of  his  mouth  drawn  down- 


9 


ward  with  a  contemptuous  expression,  his  right  hand 
clenched,  his  whole  form  suggestive  of  the  animal's 
instinct  to  spring  upon  its  prey. 

Half-way  down  the  aisle,  as  if  drawn  by  the  other's 
compelling  gaze,  the  bridegroom  looked  directly  in  his 
1'arr.  His  look  and  manner  at  once  lost  a  little  of 
their  inflation.  He  glanced  straight  before  him  and 
seemed  to  impulsively  hasten  his  steps. 

At  the  same  moment  his  bride,  though  she  had  not 
raised  her  eyes,  came  almost  to  a  standstill,  giving  her 
the  appearance  of  endeavoring  to  hold  him  back  as  she 
leaned  upon  his  arm.  The  flush  left  her  face,  she 
turned  pale  and  seemed  to  keep  herself  from  falling 
only  by  clinging  to  liim. 

It  was  but  an  instant  however.  Even  while  her 
husband  looked  at  her  wonderingly  she  went  on  as 
before.  Those  near  enough  saw  that  her  step  seemed 
uncertain  and  that  she  breathed  almost  pantiugly. 

The  incident  was  so  quickly  come  and  gone  it  was 
noticed  by  very  few.  The  husband  helped  his  wife 
into  the  carnage  waiting  at  the  door,  others  were 
quickly  filled  with  her  attendants  and  the  church  was 
soon  emptied  of  the  waiting  throng. 

The  man  in  the  pew  was  one  of  the  last  to  emerge 
and  the  carriages  had  already  disappeared  in  the  dis- 
tance. He  stood  a  moment  upon  the  sidewalk  looking 
idly  at  the  guests  as  they  departed  in  various  direc- 
tions. Then  he  stooped  and  picked  up  something 
which  lay  at  his  feet.  It  was  as  pray  of  the  lily-of-the 
valley,  crushed  and  bruised,  its  freshness  trampled  out 
under  the  passing  feet.  It  was  the  bride's  flower.  He 
laid  it  in  the  palm  of  his  hand  and  looked  at  it.  Its 


10 


sweetness  stole  over  him,  battered  and  dying  as  it 
was. 

"  Its  rough  usage  but  liberates  its  fragrant  soul,"  he 
said  half  aloud. 

"  Bah !  What  of  it  ? "  he  ejaculated,  suddenly  fling- 
ing it  from  him  and  walking  away.  He  had  gone  but 
a  few  steps  when  a  gentleman  walking  rapidly  in  the 
same  direction  came  up  with  him. 

"  How  are  you,  Everett  ? "  with  a  friendly  slap  on  the 
shoulder.  "Been  to  the  wedding?"  with  a  jerk  of  the 
head  in  a  backward  direction. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  other  briefly. 

"Who  is  she?" 

"  Emma  Haines." 

"A  prize?" 

"  An  embodied  mistake.  She  has  married  a  man  to 
save  him." 


CHAPTER  II. 

EVERETT  LONG  at  thirty-three  had  exhausted  the 
pleasures  of  life  and  was  left  with  only  its  endurance. 
He  had  "got  through"  with  everything  else.  He 
knew  the  world,  men,  women,  and  things.  What 
more  ?  What  more  was  there  to  know  ? 

On  the  morning  following  the  wedding  he  sat  at  the 
window  in  his  snug  bachelor  apartments,  newspaper 
fallen  unheeded  to  the  floor,  idly  gazing  upon  the  walls 
and  richly  draped  windows  opposite.  He  turned  with 
a  languid  expectation  as  the  bell  announced  a  visitor, 
but  his  face  lighted  up  with  genuine  pleasure  as  a  gen- 
tleman entered  the  room. 

"  More  than  glad  to  see  you,  Paul,"  he  said  as  he 
went  quickly  forward  to  meet  him.  "  It  seems  an  age 
since  you  were  here." 

A  greater  contrast  than  the  two  men  presented  as 
they  stood  together  could  not  well  be  imagined.  Everett 
Long  physically  left  little  to  be  desired.  Tall,  straight, 
muscular,  with  a  face  full  of  suggestion  of  what  it 
might  be  could  but  the  light  of  an  awakened  soul  shine 
through  it,  he  grasped  the  hand  of  a  man  who  did  not 
reach  to  his  shoulder  and  who  let  go  of  one  crutch 
supporting  himself  with  the  other  as  he  received  the 
greeting. 

Shrunken,  misshapen  he  stood  there,  seemingly  so 
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fragile  a  child  running  against  him  in  play  would  have 
felled  him  to  the  floor,  looking  up  at  Long  with  a  smile. 
His  face  was  a  revelation  and  a  perplexity.  Seeing  it 
alone  one  would  have  been  unable  to  determine  whether 
it  belonged  to  a  man  or  a  woman,  for,  guiltless  of 
beard,  it  combined  a  man's  strength  and  dominance 
with  a  woman's  gentleness  and  beauty. 

His  hair  was  a  golden  glory  waving  back  from  a 
noble  brow  and  showering  upon  his  shoulders  in  loosely 
curling  locks  that  clung  lovingly  around  his  neck.  His 
eyes  lifted  to  the  face  above  him  were  soft  and  clear  as 
a  limpid  pool  under  the  kiss  of  a  June  sun.  His  curved 
spine  spoke  of  past  pain  and  suffering  of  which  his 
glorious  face  gave  no  hint.  No  suspicion  of  melan- 
choly or  morbid  self-consciousness  clung  to  him.  One 
lost  sight  of  the  hunchback  in  looking  at  the  mingled 
peace  and  power  of  his  face. 

"  I've  tried  to  look  you  up  once  or  twice,"  continued 
Long,  "but  never  succeeded  in  finding  you.  Why 
didn't  you  come  before  ?  " 

"  You  have  not  needed  me,"  replied  Paul  Masters 
gently,  and  his  voice  did  not  belie  his  face.  Sweet  and 
sympathetic  it  yet  had  a  resonance  suggestive  of  some- 
thing held  in  reserve,  and  his  words  had  a  particular 
distinctness  though  his  tone  was  low. 

"That  means  that  you  thought  the  time  had  come 
around  again  for  one  of  your  sermons,  eh !  Oh ! 
Paul !  Paul !  Save  yotir  powder !  I  am  not  worth  it," 
returned  his  host  as  he  drew  forward  a  particularly 
easy  chair  and  took  his  guest's  crutches  from  his  hands. 

"You  are  worth  all  the  means  at  my  command  for 
your  salvation,  Everett,"  replied  Paul  Masters  as  he 


settled  into  the  capacious  chair,  looking  so  diminutive 
by  contrast  as  to  be  almost  extinguished.  Only  his 
glorious  head  stood  out  from  the  dark  background, 
beauty  framed  in  obscurity. 

"  One  would  think  to  hear  you,  Paul,  that  you  were 
a  religious  exhorter  of  the  first  water,  and  yet  you 
never  give  me  the  pill  of  religion  in  the  apple-sauce  of 
friendship.  Your  views  are  as  queer  as  your  liking  for 
me.  They  are  equally  a  puzzle." 

"  All  puzzles  are  simple  when  you  understand  them," 
said  his  companion.  "  I  love  you." 

There  was  a  quiet  steadfastness  in  his  tone,  more  im- 
pressive than  wordy  protestations  could  have  been,  as 
he  gazed  serenely  in  the  other's  face. 

A  wave  of  feeling  passed  over  it,  breaking  up 
its  studied  indifference,  as  Everett  Long  responded 
heartily : 

"  I  really  believe  you  do,  Paul.  You  have  stood  by 
me  for  years  when  you  had  nothing  to  gain  by  it  and 
I  abused  your  friendship.  You  have  nursed  me  when 
I  was  ill,  helped  me  out  of  scrapes  when  I  was  well, 
opened  your  pocket-book  when  I  needed  it  and,  best  of 
all,  you  have  never  bored  me  with  a  goodness  whose 
reward  was  a  seat  in  Heaven." 

His  friend  did  not  reply  and  a  silence  fell  between 
them. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Paul  Masters  at  last,  "  what  has  oc- 
curred since  I  saw  you  last.  The  money  was  paid  you 
all  right,  wasn't  it  ? " 

"Yes,  no  trouble  whatever.  And  your  advice  has 
had  some  effect  at  last,  I  have  invested  it  securely  and 
do  not  mean  to  spend  more  than  the  income  it  yields. 


Perhaps,  too,  my  recollection  of  past  experiences  was 
keen  enough  to  determine  my  action.  I  did  not  quite 
enjoy  being  reduced  to  a  ten-dollar  note."  There  was 
a  trace  of  bitterness  in  his  tone.  "  However,  that's 
past  and  gone.  This  legacy  has  come  in  good  time 
and  I  appreciate  its  value  more  than  I  would  formerly 
have  done." 

"  It  has  come  to  you  as  all  things  will  to  all  men — 
when  it  is  best  for  them  to  have  them;  not  always 
when  they  want  them,"  replied  Paul.  "You  have 
learned,  I  think,  that  money  is  for  use,  not  abuse.  So 
much  experience  has  done  for  you." 

"  Humph !  "  returned  his  companion  as  he  rose  from 
his  chair  and  began  to  pace  the  floor.  "  Experience  is 
a  sorry  jade.  For  every  sugar-plum  she  pours  you  out 
more  than  one  dose  of  wormwood." 

"  Experience  is  the  angel  of  revelation  to  those  who 
have  need  of  her,"  said  Paul  Masters  quietly.  But  a 
light  glowed  in  his  face  which  made  it  as  a  sun  in  the 
cloud  of  his  surroundings.  "The  time  will  yet  conic 
when  you  will  be  thankful  in  your  soul  for  every  part 
of  it,  even  while  you  regret  some  of  it." 

Everett  Long  smiled  half  sadly,  half  ironically. 

"  You  have  more  faith  in  my  possibilities  and  future 
than  I  have,"  he  said. 

"  Because  I  know  your  possibilities  and  you  as  yet 
do  not,"  replied  Paul  Masters  quickly.  "  You  have  en- 
joyed the  sense-man  while  I  have  studied  the  higher 
one.  Were  you  at  the  wedding  yesterday  ?  " 

The  other  walked  more  rapidly.  "  Yes,"  he  replied 
briefly. 

His  visitor  watched  him  silently  for  a  moment. 


15 


"  By  G — d !  I  have  committed  many  a  bad  act  but 
never  a  mean  one !  "  he  burst  out  suddenly. 

"  So  much  the  better  for  you,"  replied  Paul  quietly. 
"  You  will  have  to  take  the  consequences  of  only  your 
own  acts." 

"  Well !  I  am  able  to  take  them ! "  said  Everett,  throw- 
ing his  head  back  haughtily.  "I  will  never  seek  to 
throw  them  upon  any  one  else." 

Paul  looked  at  him  fixedly  until  he  returned  his 
gaze. 

"  Remember  that !  "  Everett  said.  "  I  may  yet  remind 
you  of  it." 

Neither  spoke  for  a  moment,  during  which  Everett 
continued  to  pace  the  floor  and  Paul  seemed  to  be  pon- 
dering something.  Then : 

"  Come  here,  my  friend,  will  you  not,  and  sit  by  me  ? " 
he  said.  "I  cannot  'sermonize'  for  such  a  walking 
whirlwind." 

It  would  have  struck  an  observer  as  curious,  the 
ready  obedience  Everett  Long  showed  his  diminutive 
friend.  With  strength  enough  to  have  carried  him 
with  one  hand,  he  seemed  to  yield  to  a  superior  strength 
at  a  word.  He  came  at  once  and  seated  himself  beside 
Paul,  who  laid  his  hand  on  his  knee. 

"  You  are  not  suffering  so  much  from  disappointed 
love,  Everett,  as  you  are  smarting  under  a  mixed  sense 
of  unfairness  toward  yourself,  contempt  for  him  and 
an  angry  pity  for  her.  Experience  has  not  yet  become 
revelation  for  you.  I  will  not  rouse  your  anger  by  tell- 
ing you  that  it  is  better  as  it  is — you  will  yet  tell  me 
that — but  rather  try  to  show  you  what  use  you  may 
make  of  what  you  have  passed  through.  First,  look 


16 


back  over  your  life.  What  had  you  to  offer  her  in  re- 
turn for  what  she  had  to  give  ? " 

"  Don't  I  know  that ! "  broke  out  Everett  Long. 
"  Was  it  not  because  I  knew  that  the  smirch  of  my  own 
life  made  it  unfair  to  seek  connection  with  hers,  that  I 
waited  and  held  aloof  when  I  might — I  think  I  might — 
have  won  her  ?  And  he  knew  it — the  cur — and  stepped 
in  and  drew  her  to  him,  not  because  he  loved  her,  but 
because  he  thought  I  did,  and  then  boasted  of  his  suc- 
cess, using  her  name  in  company  where  his  tongue 
should  have  rotted  first.  I  hope  that  his  days  will  be 
torment  and  his  nights  torture —  " 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Paul  sternly.  "  Now  you  are  unworthy 
of  yourself.  He  has  his  future  before  him.  He  will 
have  quite  enough  to  do  to  meet  it.  You  need  not 
make  it  harder  for  him.  l  Thoughts  are  things '  and 
once  created  run  their  course.  I  repeat,  what  is  called 
a  disappointment  in  love  does  not  apply  to  you  now. 
Underlying  the  outer  man  who  has  lived  for  and 
through  the  senses  you  have  a  fine  strong  nature  with 
high  instincts  and  noble  impulses.  The  divinity  in  you 
is  bursting  its  prison-house  and  will  not  be  held  captive 
much  longer.  It  was  this  nature,  attracted  by  a  sweet 
lovable  woman,  which  compelled  you  to  look  upon  the 
outer  man  and  recognize  the  difference  between  him 
and  her  5  which  showed  you  the  unfairness  of  taking 
advantage  of  her  innocence,  born  of  her  ignorance. 
The  very  honesty  and  simplicity  which  attracted  you — 
both  through  the  recognition  of  your  higher  nature 
and  the  contrast  they  offered  to  what  you  were  most 
used  to — made  it  easy  for  Walter  Hemmingway  to  win 
her.  He  could  not  act  as  you  did  any  more  than  you 


17 


could  do  as  he  has  done.  He  followed  his  bent  as  you 
did  yours.  His  awakening  is  to  come  and  through 
pain." 

His  companion  made  a  motion  as  though  to  inter- 
rupt him,  but  Paul  went  steadily  on. 

"  You  loved — because  really  you  have  affinity  with — 
certain  qualities  in  her.  Good  little  woman  as  she  is, 
she  would  not  have  called  out  the  best  in  you.  That 
your  best  must  be  active  is  for  you  a  vital  necessity. 
Your  past  tribulations  have  been  a  war  with  yourself 
because  you  were  never  satisfied  in  your  excesses. 
They  were  great  because  your  nature  is  great.  There 
is  nothing  mediocre  about  you.  When  your  soul  spoke 
you  were  always  self -condemned.  She  is  a  good  but 
a  weak  woman,  weak  because  she  lives  in  her  affections 
which  are  strong.  He  is  weak  morally,  so  weak  he  is 
not  wicked  but  worse.  He  is  a  moral  idiot.  Their 
married  life  will  be  a  scourge  for  her,  but  the  means 
for  her  development  as  well.  For  him  it  will  be  a  pas- 
time, a  forgotten  fact,  an  irritating  impediment,  or  a 
temporary  refuge,  as  his  experiences  multiply  them- 
selves. You  are  a  strong  man,  you  need  a  strong 
woman.  You  will  have  her  when  you  are  worthy  of 
her." 

He  paused  as  if  to  give  his  companion  opportunity 
for  reply.  None  came.  The  young  man's  head  had 
dropped  forward  and  he  seemed  to  be  thinking  deeply 
while  the  fierceness  in  his  face  died  away. 

"  Every  one  has  his  ideal,"  continued  Paul  Masters, 
"but  the  ideal  of  your  awakened  manhood  will  not  be 
Emma  Haines.  You  have  become  disgusted  with  ex- 
cess, impatient  with  moral  faults  your  finer  nature  in- 


18 


stinctively  spurns.  You  are  groping  vaguely  and 
blindly  after  something  which  begins  to  draw  you  an- 
other way.  Everett  Long !  "  and  he  spoke  impressively, 
looking  earnestly  in  Everett's  face  the  while,  "  you  have 
reached  an  important  period  in  your  life.  Yesterday's 
experience  was  the  closing  incident  in  a  series  which 
has  brought  you  to  it.  On  your  choice  now,  more  than 
you  realize  depends.  I  have  waited  for  this  and  am 
here  to  help  you.  If  you  will  set  free  this  struggling 
god  within  you,  if  you  will  serve  him  as  he  will  serve 
you,  you  will  have  a  hard  but  glorious  road  before 
you ;  up  hill,  therefore  an  ascension.  At  every  step 
you  may  score  a  victory,  leaving  the  possibility  of  de- 
feat further  and  further  behind  you." 

His  listener  was  breathing  quickly,  he  had  forsaken 
his  drooping  attitude,  and  while  a  tenseness  seemed  to 
pervade  his  whole  form  a  tremor  played  about  his 
mouth  and  nostrils. 

"  It  seems,"  he  began,  and  his  voice  had  lost  its  defi- 
ant ring,  "as  if  I  remember  something  I  cannot  re- 
member. Such  a  strange  sensation  !  " 

Paul  smiled  quietly. 

"  That  which  is  immortal  by  its  own  nature  may  be 
covered,  but  never  extinguished,"  he  said.  "  Some  time 
it  will  speak.  Be  quiet  a  moment." 

The  young  man  seemed  to  struggle  under  the  influ- 
ence of  a  strong  emotion.  He  was  like  a  turbulent  sea 
within,  where  tossing  waves  made  confusion  and  tur- 
moil and  there  was  nothing  firm  and  sure  to  sus- 
tain him.  Gradually  something  seemed  to  make  itself 
heard  through  the  storm,  a  voice  and  yet  not  a  voice,  a 
message,  faint  but  growing  more  distinct  as  he  list- 


19 


ened,  an  impression  rather  than  words — "  Self-mastery 
is  the  secret  of  power." 

Self-mastery !  Power !  Something  within  him 
seemed  to  spring  suddenly  into  life.  A  new  ambi- 
tion stirred  him.  An  eagerness,  he  hardly  knew  for 
what,  routed  his  old  indifference.  He  heard  his  friend's 
voice  saying : 

"  And  now  that  you  have  made  your  choice,  let  us —  " 

"  How  do  you  know  that  I  have  made  my  choice  ? " 
interrupted  Everett. 

Paul  smiled  again.  "  I  will  leave  the  question  with 
you.  Have  you  not?"  and  he  looked  at  him  inquir- 
ingly. 

A  moment's  hesitancy,  a  perceptible  inward  struggle, 
and  Everett  Long  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Help  me  !  "  he  said  as  appealingly  as  a  child. 

Paul  Masters  grasped  it  in  both  his  own  and  Everett 
looking  in  his  face  was  almost  awed  by  what  he  felt 
rather  than  saw.  He  seemed  on  the  verge  of  a  discov- 
ery, a  new  world  was  opening  to  him.  Its  threshold 
was  a  sanctuary  and  his  friend  the  ministering  priest. 
A  .solemnity  stole  over  him,  he  had  a  sense  of  consecra- 
tion and  baptism,  undefined  at  first,  but  which  deepened 
as  they  sat  a  few  moments  in  silence. 

Paul  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Two  things  cannot  occupy  the  same  space  at  the 
same  time,  you  know,"  he  said.  "As  all  feeling  is  as- 
sociated with  thought  you  must  try  to  change  your 
thoughts,  that  you  may  have  different  feelings.  By 
cultivating  certain  thoughts,  you  may  dislodge  others 
you  have  entertained  and  the  feelings  they  engender. 
Walter  Hemmingway  is  not  your  enemy  and  you 


20 


must  not  consider  Mm  such.  You  must  have  no  ene- 
mies. You  must  become  able  to  act  toward  him  as  you 
would  toward  one  who  had  never  wronged  you.  You 
owe  this  to  yourself  because  you  are  able  to  do  it.  You 
are  always  able  to  do  the  right  and  noble  thing  under 
all  circumstances ;  and  you  are  capable  of  more  than 
this  if  you  will  only  recognize  the  possibility.  You  are 
able  to  think  the  right  and  noble  thought  under  all  cir- 
cumstances." 

"I  have  heard  you  say  before  this  morning  that 
'thoughts  are  things/"  said  Everett  as  Paul  paused, 
"  but  I  begin  to  see  now  what  you  mean." 

He  was  quiet,  even  gentle,  a  marked  contrast  to  his 
former  manner. 

"  To  build  a  new  life  one  must  lay  its  foundation. 
Thoughts  make  acts,"  Paul  continued,  "  therefore  it  is 
not  the  acts  but  the  thoughts  that  now  need  watching. 
Deadly,  revengeful  thoughts  are  murderous  ones  and 
can  slay  as  surely,  if  more  slowly,  as  a  keen-edged 
knife.  Such  thoughts  directed  toward  any  one  passive 
enough  to — " 

"  Was  that  the  matter  yesterday  ? "  interrupted  Ever- 
ett hastily.  "As  they  came  down  the  aisle  on  their 
way  out  of  the  church  I  felt  such  a  contemptuous  rage 
as  I  looked  at  him — but  No !  that  could  not  be,  for  I  did 
not  feel  it  toward  her." 

"  What  occurred  yesterday  ? "  asked  Paul. 

"Just  before  she  reached  the  door  she  turned  pale 
and  swayed  as  if  she  might  fall.  It  was  only  an  in- 
stant but  I  noticed  it." 

"  You  had  been  thinking  all  the  while  they  stood  at 
the  altar  and  for  some  time  before  as  you  have  ex- 


21 


pressed  yourself  to  me  this  morning,  had  you  not?" 
asked  Paul. 

His  companion  nodded. 

"  And  as  they  retraced  their  steps  you  were  mentally 
concentrated  upon  them  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else. 
Your  intense  nature  gave  a  force  to  the  thought  you 
sent  toward  them,  a  projectile  which  entered  where 
there  was  not  sufficient  resistance  to  prevent.  He  was 
less  affected,  consciously,  than  she." 

Everett  Long  looked  at  the  speaker  half  incredu- 
lously. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  her  attack  of  faintness,  or 
whatever  it  was,  was  caused  by  my  thoughts  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  If  you  had  taken  a  pistol  and  shot  her  down,  would 
it  not  have  been  merely  the  instrument  through  which 
you  executed  your  thought?"  replied  Paul  Masters. 
"  If  it  is  possible  for  thought  to  act  on  others  without 
the  medium  of  a  visible  instrument — as  you  will  some 
time  know — could  not  the  kind  of  thought  prompting 
such  an  act  affect  her  or  another  unpleasantly  ? " 

Everett  did  not  reply  and  the  speaker  continued 
earnestly : 

"  As  a  thinking  being  you  are  a  centre  of  force  in  the 
universe.  From  the  moment  you  begin  to  recognize 
this  fact  you  are  responsible  for  the  use  of  your  power. 
You  are  done  with  the  past.  All  that  remains  for  you 
is  what  you  have  brought  out  of  it.  Its  only  value  is 
what  you  have  learned  from  it.  To-day  you  are  born 
again,  and  the  new  man  is  to  grow  from  his  infancy  to 
his  maturity  by  overcoming  the  consequences  of  his 
past  acts." 


22 


He  reached  for  his  crutches  and  rose  from  his  chair. 

"I  will  see  you  again  in  a  few  days.  Meanwhile 
keep  yourself  from  revengeful,  even  unkind  thoughts 
as  you  would  keep  your  hand  from  the  pistol  or  the 
knife.  You  can  do  this  only  by  cultivating  better  ones. 
At  present  this  is  the  way  you  must  feed  the  new-born 
and  it  is  your  part  of  the  work." 

Left  alone  a  few  minutes  later,  Everett  Long  walked 
to  the  mirror  and  gazed  intently.  "Only  the  instru- 
ment ? "  he  said  half  aloud.  Minutes  passed  and  still 
he  stood  there.  Again  came  that  inner  sound  which 
was  not  sound. 

"Crucifixion  is  resurrection.  Be  your  own  re- 
deemer." 

He  felt  a  gentle  glow  at  some  inward  centre  which 
seemed  to  spread  in  waves,  accompanied  by  a  tingling 
sensation  as  if  a  new  life  were  flowing  into  his  body. 
Finally,  raising  his  hand  he  drew  with  his  finger  a 
cross  in  the  air  over  the  image  reflected  in  the  mirror. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THROUGH  the  doors  opening  upon  the  street  a  crowd 
was  pouring  from  one  of  the  large  halls  of  Benton. 

"  Admirable !  "  "  Exceptionally  fine !  "  "  Quite  an 
extraordinary  production ! "  "A  remarkably  gifted 
woman !  "  was  heard  from  all  sides. 

A  curious  observer  would  have  been  told  that  a  meet- 
ing of  the  large  and  influential  "  Society  for  Mutual 
Help  and  Improvement,"  which  had  been  addressed  by 
Miss  Miriam  Hart  well,  a  prominent  member,  had  just 
been  dismissed.  He  might  have  heard  a  good  natured 
looking  cabman  standing  by  the  curb  say  to  his  brother 
cabby : 

"  It  beats  all  what  a  crowd  there  is  to  them  meetings 
when  that  there  lady  speaks." 

"Yes.  Ther  wimmin  is  gittin  there  sure  'nough. 
Hi !  there  !  Drat  yer !  Take  care  er  yer  own  din- 
ner !  "  as  the  cab  horse  who  had  his  oats,  as  some  peo- 
ple have  honors,  thrust  upon  him,  tossed  his  head  the 
better  to  get  the  dinner  at  the  bottom  of  the  canvas 
bag  fastened  over  it.  A  shower  of  oats  between  the 
back  of  the  cabby's  neck  and  his  collar,  which  worked 
their  own  way  to  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with 
the  rest  of  his  anatomy,  interrupted  temporarily  the 
masculine  view  of  "  wimmin  gittin  there." 

23 


24 


"  That's  her  now ! "  said  cabby  number  one  as  he 
administered  a  friendly  rub  and  slap  to  the  other's 
back. 

The  crowd  had  dissipated  as  a  lady,  a  little  in  ad- 
vance of  another  who  evidently  accompanied  her, 
emerged  from  the  central  exit.  Tall  and  erect  in  fig- 
ure, her  gait  as  she  crossed  the  wide  sidewalk  to  a  wait- 
ing carriage  confirmed  the  promise  of  her  face.  She 
was  a  worthy  specimen  of  the  nineteenth  century 
species — the  advanced  woman.  Here  was  no  timidity, 
hesitation,  or  need  of  protection.  She  knew  what  she 
wanted  to  do  and  was  conscious  of  her  ability  to  do  it. 
Her  whole  aspect  conveyed  the  impression  that  she  was 
sufficient  unto  herself. 

A  gentleman  stepped  forward  as  she  reached  her 
carriage. 

"  Allow  me  to  congratulate  you  on  your  effort  of  this 
morning,  Miss  Hartwell,"  he  said  as  he  assisted  her  and 
her  companion. 

"  Oh  !  Good-morning,  Mr.  Long !  "  she  replied.  "  I 
saw  you  in  the  audience.  Our  subject  was  a  most  in- 
teresting one,  was  it  not  ? " 

"  Exceedingly  so,  as  was  the  manner  in  which  you 
handled  it." 

"  I  believe  you  have  not  met  my  sister,  Mr.  Long. 
Sarah,  allow  me  to  introduce  to  you  Mr.  Everett  Long." 

Sarah  Hartwell  was  a  marked  contrast  to  her  sister, 
not  so  much  in  appearance  as  in  the  impression  she 
made  on  one,  or  rather  in  the  lack  of  strong  impression 
made  on  first  meeting  her.  This  much  he  observed  as 
he  stood  at  the  carriage  door  exchanging  the  common- 
places incidental  to  an  introduction. 


25 


"  Remember  our  Friday  evenings,  Mr.  Long !  "  called 
Miss  Hartwell  as  they  drove  away.  "  We  shall  always 
be  glad  to  see  you." 

Everett  Long  walked  slowly  down  the  street.  He 
had  changed  greatly  even  in  the  year  since  the  morn- 
ing conversation  with  his  friend  Paul  Masters  which 
had  been  fraught  with  so  much  to  him.  More  of  the 
underlying  possibilities  of  his  nature  had  come  to  the 
surface  and  erased  in  a  degree  the  impress  his  former 
life  had  made.  His  intellect,  always  active,  was  work- 
ing in  a  new  direction,  no  longer  devising  ways  and 
means  for  carrying  out  undisciplined  impulse;  no 
longer  acting  as  the  tool  of  the  sense-nature,  but  as  the 
faithful  and  respected  servant  of  its  growing  master. 

He  had  had  many  a  battle  with  his  old  self,  battles 
which  had  left  him  scarred.  Former  friends — he  had 
called  them  friends — had  first  laughed,  then  sneered, 
then  dropped  him.  Companionable  no  longer,  they  left 
him  to  such  companionship  as  he  could  find  in  his 
ideals,  his  efforts,  his  aspirations ;  left  him  to  that  lone- 
liness all  awakened  souls  must  experience  when  sur- 
rounded by  the  spiritually  dead,  but  in  which  Paul 
Masters'  faithful  service  was  the  bright  star  that  ever 
showed  him  the  way. 

He  observed  that  the  times  when  he  was  most  de- 
pressed and  discouraged  were  the  times  he  either  saw 
or  heard  from  Paul ;  when  he  questioned  if  there  were 
a  divinity,  as  Paul  called  it,  within  Mm,  and  if  it  were 
worth  while  to  live  and  struggle  if  he  could  end  it  all. 
But  then  there  surged  within  him  such  a  protest,  such 
an  uprising  as  it  were  from  some  hidden  deep  in  his 
nature,  an  almost  audible  "Are  you  sure  that  death 


26 


ends  all  ? "  that  he,  half  in  despair  and  half  in  hope,  re- 
sumed his  efforts  again. 

Paul's  injunction,  "  Live  to  your  best,  not  your  least, 
for  you  are  able  to  do  it,"  was  a  tonic  to  him.  He 
never  heard  Paul  mourn  over  his  past,  express  fear  for 
his  present,  or  anxiety  for  his  future.  He  was  always 
confident  and  serene,  always  sure  of  his  friend's  ability 
to  achieve  whatever  he  appointed  for  himself.  Never 
once  did  he  say  to  him,  "You  are  liable  to  fall."  It 
was  always,  "  You  are  able  to  stand." 

He  kept  his  resolve  to  spend  no  more  than  his  in- 
come and  began  to  read  and  study,  to  take  some  inter- 
est in  the  pressing  questions  of  the  day.  From  living 
to  himself  alone,  he  began  to  notice  how  other  people 
lived,  to  feel  sympathy  for  their  privations,  a  connec- 
tion with  humanity  which  impelled  him  to  closer  in- 
spection of  its  burdens  and  needs. 

He  walked  slowly  along,  meditating  on  what  he  had 
heard  that  morning — "  The  Relation  of  Education  to 
the  Progress  of  a  Community."  How  admirably  Miss 
Hartwell  had  filled  the  position  assigned  her!  How 
clearly  she  had  defined  what  education  must  be  and 
traced  the  progress  of  a  people  under  intellectual  stim- 
ulus !  How  logical  were  her  arguments,  how  remark- 
able her  reasoning  power!  What  an  exceptional 
woman  she  was !  How  different  from  those  with  whom 
his  former  mode  of  life  had  brought  him  in  contact ! 

"  How  are  you,  Long  f " 

He  looked  up  at  Walter  Hemmingway,  who,  standing 
before  him  with  his  wife,  went  on  in  a  hail-fellow-well- 
met  sort  of  way,  "  Have  not  seen  you  for  an  age ! 
Why  don't  you  come  and  look  us  up  ? " 


27 


Since  that  wedding  day  Everett  Long  had  met  his 
former  associate  but  seldom.  At  first  the  old  rage  and 
contempt  swelled  within  him,  but  he  had  come  to  see, 
as  Paul  Masters  had  taught  him,  that  thoughts  harm 
or  help  those  toward  whom  they  are  directed  and  that 
every  thought  brings  its  harvest  to  the  sower  of  the 
seed.  He  had  begun  to  see  the  act  of  Walter  Hem- 
mingway  as  the  impulse  of  a  weak  vain  nature  rather 
than  the  premeditated  plan  of  an  intentional  enemy ; 
and  this  perception  added  to  the  other  enabled  him  to 
meet  him  with  a  reserved  courtesy  which  limited  their 
intercourse  to  ordinary  salutations.  Emma  he  had  not 
met  at  all. 

She  stood  before  him  now  holding  out  her  hand  with 
a  smile,  looking  at  him  with  a  gentle  persuasiveness  as 
she  said : 

"  Pray  give  us  convincing  proof  that  our  friendship 
is  not  merely  a  memory." 

He  was  constrained  to  acknowledge  the  manifest  de- 
sire for  future  intercourse,  he  could  not  repel  the  hus- 
band's advances  in  the  presence  of  his  wife.  She  could 
not  know,  even  if  she  might  guess,  of  his  former  feel- 
ings toward  her,  for  he  had  never  expressed  them.  A 
fool  had  rushed  in  where  he  had  feared  to  tread.  In 
that  incomprehensibly  short  space  of  time  which  is  no 
time  he  reviewed  the  past  and  reached  the  present  to 
find  that  there  was  really  no  reason,  in  the  light  of  his 
present  views  and  consciousness,  why  he  should  not 
meet  them  as  he  did  others ;  not  as  friends — for  friend- 
ship was  growing  to  have  a  deep  significance  for  him — 
but  as  members  of  the  same  human  family  whose  well- 
being  was  involved  in  his  own. 


28 


With  a  cordial  pressure  of  Emma's  hand  and  a  court- 
eous response  to  her  husband's  invitation  he  left  them 
committed  to  an  indefinite  call  upon  them. 

"  How  he  has  changed !  "  said  Emma.  "  He  seems 
so  much  older  in  some  way ;  and  yet  it  is  barely  a  year 
since  I  saw  him.  Did  you  notice  it,  Walter  ? " 

Her  husband  did  not  seem  to  hear  her.  He  was 
ruminating  as  he  walked  along,  and  his  mental  pictures 
did  not  seem  to  be  altogether  pleasant  ones.  His  wife 
laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"What?  He  older?  I  suppose  so.  It's  a  natural 
consequence  of  living.  I  did  not  notice.  Say,  Emma, 
you  go  on  home.  I  will  be  up  in  time  to  take  you  for 
a  drive  this  afternoon.  I  want  to  see  some  one." 

His  wife  did  not  at  once  reply.  She  stopped,  as  had 
he,  her  hand  still  upon  his  arm.  A  mixed  emotion 
showed  itself  in  her  face,  the  wish  that  he  should  not 
leave  her,  the  doubt  of  his  return  at  the  appointed 
time,  and  the  desire  not  to  offend  him  by  expressing 
either. 

"  Will  you  surely —  "  she  began  timidly,  but  was  cut 
short  by  his  signal  to  a  car-driver. 

"  Here  you  are,  dear !  "  he  said,  drawing  her  from  the 
sidewalk  as  the  car  stopped.  She  stepped  on  silently, 
pressing  her  lips  closely  together — they  would  have 
trembled  otherwise — and  did  not  even  look  after  him 
as  he  continued  on  his  way. 

Emma  Hemmingway  was  more  than  a  year  older  in 
experience  than  Emma  Haines  had  been.  She  was 
learning  many  things,  had  learned  one — she  could  not 
rely  upon  her  husband's  word.  A  promise  with  him 
was  something  that  did  not  necessitate  a  performance. 


29 


It  was  an  expedient,  handy  on  occasion,  with  no  en- 
durance beyond  it  except  to  carry  out  his  own  desires. 
While  she  knew  this  fact,  knew  that  it  was  a  fact,  her 
heart  refused  to  acknowledge  it.  That  always  found 
excuses,  reasons  why  he  did  this  and  did  not  do  the 
other.  It  sternly  refused  to  look  upon  the  growing 
revelation  of  character  in  her  husband  and  hugged  to 
it  instead  the  ideal  she  had  married. 

That  afternoon  she  sat  by  the  window  where  she 
could  see  him  as  he  came  down  the  street.  She  was 
dressed  for  the  promised  drive  and  wore  a  more  cheer- 
ful face.  One  of  the  resolves  made  on  the  eve  of  her 
wedding,  which  she  had  striven  faithfully  to  keep,  was 
that  her  husband  should  never  see  her  cry;  he  should 
see  only  a  pleasant  face.  For,  she  argued  to  herself,  a 
man's  home  must  be  pleasant  for  him,  something  more 
than  a  place  to  stay  in,  if  he  shall  be  content  to  remain 
in  it.  And  how  can  he  be  contented  if  he  is  to  see  a 
discontented,  worried,  or  crying  wife  ? 

So  she  had  striven  bravely  to  put  her  own  f eelings  so 
far  in  the  background  that  they  should  never  come 
within  his  line  of  vision  when  they  were  of  a  kind  likely 
to  be  disagreeable  to  him. 

"A  wife's  duty  is  to  consider  her  husband  in  all 
things  before  herself,"  was  her  motto. 

She  sat  at  the  window,  a  book  in  her  hand,  which 
she  read  at  intervals,  till  the  fading  daylight  told  her 
the  time  for  driving  was  past.  She  busied  herself  with 
needlework — such  a  dainty  bit  of  fine  white  flannel  and 
embroidery ! — till  the  clock  showed  her  the  near  ap- 
proach of  the  dinner-hour.  She  listened  for  his  quick 
run  up  the  steps,  worked  a  little,  listened  again,  then 


30 


gave  orders  that  dinner  should  wait  as  Mr.  Hemming- 
way  had  not  yet  come  home. 

She  waited  a  half -hour,  an  hour,  an  hour  and  a  half, 
and  then  attempted  to  eat  her  dinner  alone,  that  she 
might  release  the  servants  from  the  delay  imposed 
upon  them.  Attempted,  for,  try  as  she  would,  her 
heart  was  too  full  to  allow  her  to  eat. 

She  resumed  her  work,  her  listening,  till  the  hands 
of  the  clock  in  their  slow  dragging  away  from  the  hour 
of  ten  had  nearly  reached  eleven.  "  I  will  wait  till  the 
clock  strikes,"  she  said  to  herself. 

The  clock  struck.  He  had  not  come.  She  went  up- 
stairs to  their  room  and  prepared  slowly  for  bed.  The 
last  nicker  of  cheerfulness  she  had  kept  to  the  front  all 
the  evening,  dying  down  at  intervals  only  to  flash  with 
renewed  brightness  as  she  thought  she  heard  his  step, 
died  out  altogether  as  she  laid  her  head  upon  her  pil- 
low. Tears  stole  gently  down  her  face  as  she  lay  in 
the  semi-darkness  waiting,  listening,  hoping,  till  the 
clock  struck  twelve. 

He  had  not  come.  Burying  her  face  in  the  pillow 
she  sobbed  aloud. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WALTER  HEMMINGWAY  was  roused  the  next  morning 
by  his  wife's  gentle  hand  on  his  face  and  loving  voice 
as  she  said,  "  Walter !  Walter !  Wake  up !  It  is  very 
late,  and  a  man  is  down-stairs  who  declares  he  will  not 
go  away  until  he  has  seen  you." 

"Eh?  What?  D— nyou!  Let—  Oh!  Is  it  you, 
Emma  ?  What's  the  matter  ? " 

She  had  shrunk  back  from  the  bed,  the  color  coming 
and  going  in  her  face,  as  he  struck  out  wildly  with  one 
arm.  More  than  once  that  morning  she  had  gone  to 
see  if  he  were  not  about  to  waken.  She  had  noticed 
his  heavy  breathing,  his  loosely  dropping  jaw,  the 
flushed,  almost  mottled  appearance  of  his  face,  the  in- 
describable and  repulsive  odor  which  clung  about  him 
and  permeated  the  room. 

She  had  struggled  not  only  to  repress  but  to  expel 
the  fear  which  possessed  her,  making  excuses,  invent- 
ing reasons  for  his  late  home-coming  the  previous  even- 
ing and  the  stupor  rather  than  sleep  which  was  so  pro- 
longed in  the  morning.  The  possibilities  suggested  by 
what  she  saw  were  put  resolutely  one  side  by  what  she 
wanted  to  believe. 

Had  not  Walter  promised  to  forsake  his  old  ways, 
solemnly  promised  to  give  up  his  pleasures,  to  use  wine 

31 


only  in  moderation  as  social  duties  demanded  it  of  him, 
to  be  a  model  husband  and  family  man  if  she  would 
only  marry  and  help  him  ? 

Had  he  not  assured  her  again  and  again  that  he 
would  do  anything  to  win  her,  that  never  such  a  hus- 
band lived  as  he  would  be  to  her,  never  such  a  home 
was  known  as  they  would  have  together  ? 

Had  he  not  declared  on  his  knees  at  her  feet  that  he 
would  die  if  she  did  not  marry  and  help  him?  He 
could  not  live  without  her !  She  was  his  life,  his  soul, 
his  salvation,  his  all.  With  her  he  was  everything, 
without  her  he  was  nothing. 

How  he  loved  her !  He  could  not  fail  to  be  what  she 
expected  of  him,  what  he  had  promised  to  be !  It  was 
simply  impossible. 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter,"  she  replied,  her  voice 
quavering  suspiciously,  "only  it  is  the  middle  of  the 
forenoon  and  this  man  insists  on  seeing  you." 

He  muttered  something  under  his  breath.  "  Who  is 
he  anyway  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  When  I  asked  his  name  he  said  it 
did  not  matter,  but  to  tell  you  he  must  see  you." 

"  Well,  tell  him  I  am  sick  and  in  bed.  I  do  not 
know  who  it  is  and  I  do  not  want  to  see  him  anyway." 

His  wife  stepped  quickly  forward  and  leaned  over 
him  anxiously. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  ?    How  do  you  feel  ?    Shall  I—  " 

"  Oh !  It's  nothing  much !  "  he  interrupted  her  im- 
patiently. "I  shall  be  all  right  when  I  have  pulled 
myself  together.  Do  go  down  and  get  rid  of  him." 
And  rolling  over  he  pulled  the  bedclothes  about  him, 
showing  his  determination  to  remain  where  he  was. 


33 


She  hesitated  a  moment,  began  to  speak,  checked  her- 
self and  slowly  left  the  room. 

In  a  few  minutes  she  returned.  Her  lyisband  did 
not  move.  Reluctantly  she  again  approached  the  bed. 

"  Walter  dear  !  I'm  sorry  to  disturb  you,  but  he  has 
sat  down  in  the  hall  and  declares  he  will  not  go  with- 
out seeing  you  if  he  lias  to  wait  until  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

With  a  smothered  oath  Walter  Hemmingway  threw 
back  the  bedclothes  and  sat  up. 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  go  down  and  settle  him," 
he  said.  "  I  should  think,  though,  you  might  get  rid  of 
any  one  I  don't  want  to  see." 

Emma  felt  a  pang  which  sent  a  sudden  weakness 
through  and  through  her.  Had  she  not  done  her  best 
to  save  her  husband  annoyance  ? 

Noting  her  silence  as  he  dressed,  he  seemed  to  awake 
more  fully  to  the  situation. 

"I  declare,  Emma,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  have  been  a 
home-body  for  so  long  that  a  little  fun  with  the  boys 
uses  me  up.  I  met  my  old  friend  Hal  Smith,  who  is 
just  back  from  a  trip  abroad,  as  I  was  about  coming 
home  to  dinner  last  night.  He  stepped  from  the  car 
into  my  arms,  almost,  as  I  was  waiting  to  step  on.  He 
couldn't  come  up  with  me,  for  he  had  to  make  a  train 
early  in  the  evening,  so  I  took  dinner  downtown  with 
him  and  then  looked  up  some  of  our  mutual  friends. 
The  evening  was  gone  before  I  knew  it,  and  I  really 
did  not  get  home  till  twelve  o'clock.  You  were  sleep- 
ing soundly  as  a  baby  when  I  came,  dear,  and  I  took 
good  care  not  to  disturb  you.  You  don't  mind,  do  you  ? 
Give  me  a  kiss." 


She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"  N — o,  not  much,  Walter,"  she  replied.  "  I  am  glad 
you  enjoyed  yourself,  though  I  wish  you  could  have 
brought  him  home  with  you.  But — was  it  not  later 
than  twelve  o'clock  when  you  came  ?  I  had  not  gone 
to  sleep  then." 

She  looked-  earnestly  in  his  face  and  he  seemed  to 
feel  uncomfortable  under  her  inspection.  Kissing  her 
hastily  he  turned  and  began  to  look  for  something, 
opening  one  drawer  after  another. 

"  Hadn't  you  ?  It  was  pretty  near  that.  Where  are 
my  turnover  collars  ?  Can't  stand  a  choker  this  morn- 
ing !  "  and  he  rummaged  industriously. 

Emma  took  them  out  almost  from  under  his  hand. 

"  Oh !  There  they  are  ! "  he  continued.  "  What  should 
I  do  without  you,  little  woman  ? " 

She  smiled,  rather  faintly  in  spite  of  her  effort  to  be 
cheery,  and  helped  him  till  he  was  ready  to  go  down- 
stairs. As  they  descended  she  felt  rather  than  saw  the 
start  he  gave  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  man  waiting 
below. 

"Just  see  if  breakfast  is  ready  for  me,  will  you, 
Emma  ?  "  he  said  as  they  reached  the  hall. 

She  went  away  at  once,  hearing  nothing  of  what 
passed  between  them,  Walter  carefully  closing  the  door 
after  her. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  came  to  the  dining-room,  sitting 
down  to  the  table  and  talking,  in  a  busy  bustling  sort 
of  way,  of  everything  and  nothing  at  the  same  time. 
She  poured  his  coffee  and  hovered  around  him  lovingly 
while  he  rattled  on.  Had  she  the  inclination  he  gave 
her  no  opportunity  of  speaking. 


35 


"  That  girl  does  not  cook  as  well  as  she  used  to,"  he 
said,  as  he  pushed  his  beefsteak  from  him.  "  Another 
cup,  dear.  No,  I  won't  have  any  eggs.  Just  give  me 
a  piece  of  that  toast.  By  Jove !  It  is  awful  late  !  I 
must  be  off.  What  are  you  going  to  do  to-day  ? " 

He  hardly  seemed  to  hear  her  answer  as  he  looked  at 
his  watch  and  pushed  back  his  chair.  He  had  scarcely 
touched  the  toast,  had  eaten  a  mere  nothing,  but  he 
had  drank  three  cups  of  strong  coffee. 

She  followed  him  to  the  hall.  He  continued  to  talk 
while  putting  on  his  coat. 

"Now  good-by,  little  one!  Take  care  of  yourself 
and  I'll  be  up  bright  and  early  to-night.  There ! 
There's  two  kisses  for  you  instead  of  your  regular 
allowance." 

He  turned  back  as  he  stood  on  the  step,  saying  as  he 
shut  the  door : 

"  Say,  Emma,  if  that  man  comes  here  again  tell  him 
I  have  gone  out  of  the  city  and  you  don't  know  when 
I  will  be  at  home." 

She  stood  silent  for  a  moment  after  he  had  left  her 
and  then  went  slowly  up-stairs  to  her  own  room. 

Who  could  that  man  have  been  ?  What  did  he  want 
with  her  husband  ?  How  dared  he  be  so  dictatorial  I 
Why  did  Walter  seem  to  want  to  get  away  from  her  ? 
Why  had  he  told  her  he  got  home  at  twelve  o'clock  ? 
She  was  awake  till  long  after  twelve.  Had  he — could 
he  have  told  her  a  lie  ?  No !  Oh,  no !  How  could  she 
think  such  a  thing?  How  dared  she?  Her  husband 
could  not — 

Suddenly  she  remembered  that  he  had  said  nothing 
of  the  promised  drive.  He  had  met  his  friend  only  as 


36 


he  was  about  to  come  home  to  dinner.  Could  he — 
have — forgotten  her  ? 

The  tears  welled  to  her  eyes — she  was  safe,  for  he 
was  gone.  "  What  should  I  do  if  he  should  forget  me 
quite?"  she  said  to  herself.  A  desolateness  began  to 
creep  over  her,  a  paralyzing  feeling  that  seemed  to 
check  the  beating  of  her  heart,  that  made  her  breath- 
ing fainter  and  fainter. 

She  roused  herself  by  a  vigorous  effort.  What  was 
she  doing  ?  Making  herself  miserable  by  suppositions. 
A  sensible  thing  to  do,  truly.  Her  husband  was — her 
husband.  He  could  not  do  anything  mean,  deceitful,  or 
wicked.  He  was  impulsive,  warm-hearted,  generous. 
He  might  make  mistakes  in  judgment,  though  even 
that  was  doubtful.  He  must  know  about  everything 
better  than  she.  What  a  goose  she  was  to  sit  there 
and  cry  over  her  own  imaginings !  Men  could  not  be 
like  women  and  remember  every  little  word  and  thing. 
They  had  too  busy  lives,  too  much  crowded  upon  them. 
He  would  explain  everything  to  her  satisfaction  when 
he  had  more  time.  Of  course  he  would.  She  had  bet- 
ter attend  to  her  household  duties  and  see  that  every- 
thing was  just  as  he  liked  to  have  it  when  he  came 
home. 

She  went  down-stairs  and  busied  herself.  She  sang 
at  her  work.  She  read  for  a  time  when  everything 
was  in  order.  The  book  did  not  interest  her. 

She  had  settled  everything  satisfactorily.  Why  did 
her  heart  ache  ? 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  You  will  have  to  attend  to  that,  Sarah.  I  have  an 
important  essay  to  prepare  and  I  cannot  be  distracted 
by  these  petty  details.  See  that  Ann  does  not  meddle 
with  iny  desk  when  she  cleans  my  room,  won't  you  ?  I 
am  going  down  to  the  public  Library  to  get  some  sta- 
tistics I  need." 

Miriam  Hartwell  stood  in  the  hall  bonneted  and 
gloved,  her  hand  on  the  door-knob  as  she  spoke.  Her 
sister  carefully  adjusted  the  folds  of  her  mantle  as  she 
passed  out. 

"  Good-by,  dear,"  she  said. 

"  Good-by,  Sarah.  If  I  should  not  return  by  lunch- 
eon-time, keep  some  warm  for  me.  And  do  see  that  it 
is  not  allowed  to  dry  by  being  kept.  I  detest  unsuc- 
cessful things  of  all  kinds." 

Sarah  Hartwell  closed  the  door  and  went  up-stairs. 
It  was  a  bright,  genial  day  in  October,  cool  without  be- 
ing cold.  Her  own  room,  which  adjoined  her  sister's, 
looked  very  inviting  with  the  warm  sunshine  streaming 
in  and  flooding  it  with  a  subtle  vitality.  Beside  her 
work-basket  lay  a  newly  arrived  magazine,  its  leaves 
still  uncut.  She  looked  at  it  longingly  a  moment,  but 
passed  into  her  sister's  room  and  began  carefully  to 
move  and  dust  the  contents  of  her  writing-table. 

37 


38 


She  worked  busily  till  everything  was  restored  clean 
and  whole  to  its  original  place ;  worked  hour  after  hour 
in  many  and  devious  ways  with  many  and  devious 
things  pertaining  to  the  care  of  a  household.  Late  in 
the  forenoon  she  tapped  softly  at  a  door  at  the  end  of 
the  upper  hall,  opening  it  gently. 

It  was  a  large  room  that  was  revealed,  at  the  back  of 
the  house  and  overlooking  a  small  but  well-kept  gar- 
den. In  the  bay-window  in  an  invalid  chair  was  seated 
a  man  who  turned  his  face  toward  her  as  she  entered. 
It  was  wan  and  worn  as  if  with  pain,  and  framed  in 
scanty  white  hair.  The  hand  he  held  out  to  her  as  she 
approached  was  the  hand  of  a  student,  of  a  mental 
rather  than  a  physical  worker. 

"  You  have  been  very  busy,  my  child,  have  you  not  ? " 

"A  little  more  than  usual,  father,"  she  replied, 
smoothing  his  hair  lovingly. 

"  I  have  not  yet  seen  Miriam,"  he  continued.  "  Where 
is  she?" 

"  She  has  gone  to  the  Library  to  get  material  for  the 
work  upon  which  she  is  engaged." 

A  sparkle  came  in  his  eye  and  a  slight  flush  to  his 
face. 

"  She  will  do  it  well,"  he  said,  "  excellently  well. 
Your  sister  is  a  very  superior  woman,  my  child." 

"  Yes,  father,  she  is,"  Sarah  replied  heartily. 

"  Did  you  see  this  letter  from  Professor  Dobbinson 
in  reference  to  that  last  article  of  hers  in  the  '  Rational 
Age'?  He  admires  it  exceedingly  and  pays  me  the 
compliment  of  saying  her  ability  must  be  in  part  the  re- 
sult of  my  example  and  training.  Well !  Perhaps !  "  he 
continued  musingly  as  Sarah  read  the  letter. 


39 


"You  know,"  he  went  on,  "I  have  always  believed  it 
a  monstrous  wrong  that  our  former  system  of  educa- 
tion should  include  so  much  for  young  men  and  so  lit- 
tle for  young  women ;  that  the  training  of  the  intellect 
should  be  given  almost  entirely  to  our  boys.  Fortu- 
nately of  late  years  that  wrong  has  been  largely  righted 
and  your  sister  has  been  able  to  afford  proof  that  in- 
tellectual ability  is  not  confined  to  the  masculine  sex. 
I  would  not  be  afraid  to  match  her  with  many  of  its 
leaders,"  he  concluded  triumphantly. 

"  She  could  stand  the  comparison  without  loss,  I  am 
sure,  father,"  assented  Sarah.  "  But  I  came  to  see  if 
there  was  any  special  dish  you  would  like  for  your 
luncheon  to-day." 

He  pondered  a  moment.  "I  believe  I  could  eat  a 
little  broiled  chicken  if  you  will  prepare  it.  Maria  is 
apt  to  scorch  it  somewhere  and  the  least  touch  spoils 
it.  You  look  tired,  though,"  looking  up  into  her  face. 
"  Are  you  tired,  my  child  ? '' 

"  I  am  never  too  tired  to  do  something  for  you,  father 
dear,"  she  replied  gently,  as  with  a  parting  pat  she  left 
the  room. 

"  A  good  child !  A  good  child !  "  he  mused  half  aloud 
as  she  went. 

Dr.  Hartwell  was  a  retired  physician  and  a  confirmed 
invalid.  Having  been  in  his  years  of  activity  a  very 
successful  practitioner,  he  had  established  a  reputation 
which  led  to  his  still  being  frequently  consulted  by  his 
professional  brethren  and  had  accumulated  means  suf- 
ficient to  live  in  comfort  with  his  two  daughters. 

He  was  a  widower,  his  wife  having  died  some  years 
previous.  He  had  been  a  specialist  in  his  practice 


40 


and,  curiously  enough,  he  suffered  from  the  same  dis- 
ordered organ  he  had  professed  to  restore  to  harmony 
— the  stomach.  A  studious  man,  enthusiastic  in  his 
profession  and  in  all  intellectual  culture  and  attain- 
ment, he  had  afforded  his  daughters  opportunities  to 
excel  in  scholarship  which  they  had  not  neglected.  He 
had  made  them,  especially  Miriam,  intellectual  com- 
panions. She  had  shown  greater  eagerness  and  apti- 
tude than  her  sister,  and  her  father's  pride  in  her  was 
not  ill  deserved.  She  was  one  of  the  leading  women  of 
Benton,  taking  precedence  of  many  whose  wealth  and 
family  connections  were  far  beyond  hers. 

Sarah  soon  returned  with  a  servant  bearing  the  tray 
containing  her  father's  luncheon.  The  chicken  was 
broiled  to  perfection,  the  accompanying  jelly  quivered 
suggestively  in  its  cut-glass  dish,  the  toast  was  a  deli- 
cate golden  brown  and  buttered  to  the  edges,  the  silver 
was  shining  its  thanks  for  the  labor  bestowed  upon  it, 
the  linen  was  fine  and  white  and  showed  signs  of  care- 
ful laundering. 

She  remained  with  him  while  he  ate,  waiting  upon 
him  so  unobtrusively,  and  chatting  so  entertainingly, 
that  before  he  was  aware  of  it  he  had  eaten  nearly  all 
she  had  provided. 

"  Really,  I  am  afraid  I  have  eaten  too  much !  "  he 
said  as  the  tray  was  removed  and  his  reading-table  took 
its  place. 

"  Oh,  no,  father !  "  said  Sarah  cheerily.  '"  You  were 
really  hungry  to-day  and  you  will  suffer  no  harm  I  am 
sure.  Now  I  am  going  to  leave  you  to  take  your  nap 
and  then  by  and  by  I  will  come  and  read  to  you  Dr. 
Patterson's  last  article  on  the  brain." 


41 


She  brought  another  cushion  for  his  head,  covered 
him  carefully  with  a  light  but  warm  silken  slumber- 
robe,  drew  down  the  shades  and  stole  carefully  out  of 
the  room. 

Passing  her  own  door  again  she  hesitated  a  moment 
— the  magazine  had  not  been  touched — but  went  on 
down-stairs.  She  must  make  sure  that  Miriam's  lunch- 
eon was  ready  to  be  served  at  a  moment's  notice,  for 
her  sister  did  not  like  to  wait,  and  that  it  did  not  reach 
the  state  which  was  sure  to  call  forth  her  displeasure. 
Miriam  worked  hard — she  was  so  ambitious — and  ex- 
pected ample  provision  for  her  creature  comforts.  She 
had  too  much  to  accomplish  to  give  her  own  time  and 
attention  to  trivial  things. 

It  was  Miriam's  reception  evening  also,  and  she  must 
see  that  the  flowers  were  sure  to  be  ready,  the  tea 
things  properly  arranged,  and  the  table  on  the  very 
spot  where  Miriam  wanted  it,  and —  Oh !  Maria  had 
burned  the  wafers  this  week  and  she  must  send,  or 
go  herself,  to  Whitney's  and  get  some.  Miriam  would 
never  have  forgiven  her  if  she  had  forgotten  it,  or  at 
least  not  for  a  long  time. 

It  was  of  no  use,  she  could  get  no  leisure  for  herself 
to-day,  there  was  too  much  to  be  done. 

An  hour  later  she  was  sitting  with  her  sister  while 
she  partook  of  her  late  luncheon.  Miriam  did  not  like 
to  eat  alone. 

"  I  saw  Walter  Hemmingway  on  the  street  this  morn- 
ing," she  was  saying,  "  and  he  looked  not  at  all  as  he 
did  six  months  ago.  I  wonder  if  he  is  behaving  him- 
self now  ? " 

"  I  hope  so,  for  his  wife's  sake  at  least,"  replied  Sarah. 


42 


Miriam's  face  took  on  a  severe  expression. 

"  Why  did  she  marry  him  1  She  knew  what  he  had 
been.  Whatever  conies  she  has  no  one  to  blame  but 
herself." 

"She  loved  him  very  dearly  and  thought  that  he 
loved  her  so  well  he  would  be  different  if  she  were  his 
wife.  She  felt  that  she  could  save  him,"  said  Sarah 
gently. 

"  Well,  she  will  probably  have  what  so  many  women 
experience  who  marry  foolishly  or  '  all  for  love/  a  lif e 
of  dependence  and  mortification  spent  in  making  apolo- 
gies for  her  husband.  I  do  not  see  why  women  will  be 
so  foolish  as  to  live  in  their  emotions  instead  of  using 
the  reason  that  would  save  them  from  such  a  fate. 
Hearts  are  good  things  to  have,  but  brains  are  better, 
for  hearts  are  continually  getting  people  into  difficul- 
ties. This  chocolate  is  altogether  too  thick,  Sarah.  I 
wish  you  would  remember  that  I  like  it  thinner.  Can't 
you  sew  the  lace  in  the  sleeves  of  my  brown  silk  this 
afternoon  ?  I  want  to  wear  it  this  evening." 

Sarah  did  not  answer  at  once. 

"  I'll  try  to  do  it,"  she  said  finally. 

"  I  met  Paul  Masters  this  morning,  also,"  Miriam 
continued.  "He  came  into  the  Library  while  I  was 
there.  He  is  such  an  interesting  man  to  talk  to,  though 
he  has  some  very  strange  ideas  and  his  views  on  many 
subjects  are  far  from  sound,  I  think.  He  is  too  much 
of  an  idealist  and  facts  are  what  we  want.  They  have 
value,  while  theories  are  generally  untenable  and  im- 
probable. Why  have  you  placed  that  jelly  so  far  away  ? 
That  will  do.  I  wonder  if  Everett  Long  will  come 
to-night  ?  He  is  really  quite  an  entertaining  conversa- 
tionalist, for  he  always  gets  away  from  the  dead  level 


43 


of  small  talk.  Now  I  am  going  up- stairs  " — rising  as 
she  spoke — "  and  please  see  that  I  am  not  disturbed  for 
at  least  two  hours." 

Sarah  heard  the  bolt  turn  in  the  lock  as  Miriam 
closed  her  door.  She  remained  seated  in  the  high- 
backed  dining-chair,  her  relaxed  attitude  indicating 
weariness.  She  seemed  unconscious  of  the  frequent 
glances  of  the  maid  who  was  clearing  the  table. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  up-stairs  and  take  a  nap,  Miss 
Sarah  ? "  said  Ann  at  last.  "  You've  been  at  it  all  the 
morning  and  must  be  beat  out." 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  raised  her  head.  A  soft 
light  shone  in  them,  while  a  gentle  smile  played  over 
her  face. 

"  By  and  by,  Ann,"  she  said  as  she  rose.  "  I  am  go- 
ing to  father's  room  now.  If  any  one  calls  for  Miss 
Miriam  you  will  come  to  me  and  not  disturb  her.  And 
please  try  to  keep  the  house  as  quiet  as  possible.  Doors 
will  shut  hard  sometimes  if  we  do  not  watch  them, 
won't  they  ? " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I'll  remember,"  replied  Ann. 

But  when  she  reached  the  kitchen  she  relieved  her 
mind  to  Maria,  the  cook. 

"  I  vow  to  gracious !  if  it  isn't  a  shame  the  way  Miss 
Sarah  has  to  wait  on  her  sister !  She  hadn't  ought  'er 
be  so  good :  she's  jest  imposed  upon." 

Maria  nodded  with  a  tempered  approval  "Miss 
Miriam's  a  smart  'tin  though,"  she  said. 

"  Smart !  Humph !  "  ejaculated  Ann  as  she  went  to 
a  closet.  "Nobody  says  she  isn't,  but  there's  things 
in  this  world  better  than  smart,  I'm  thinkin'.  O  Lord ! 
I  forgot !  "  this,  as  the  door  shut  loudly  behind  her,  em- 
phasizing her  opinions. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  so.  The  time  has  largely  gone 
by  when  women  are  considered  less  attractive  because 
they  have  found  they  are  fitted  for  something  more 
than  the  drudgery  of  household  routine  and  the  care 
of  a  family." 

Miriam  Hartwell's  head  was  very  erect  as  she  spoke. 
Everett  Long  was  seated  beside  her,  and  his  look  as  it 
rested  upon  her  coincided  with  her  view.  They  had 
been  considering  the  progress  to  be  made  toward  the 
highest  civilization  and  woman's  share  in  the  work 
which  helped  it  forward. 

The  room  was  well  filled  and  conversation  was  ani- 
mated. Miriam  Hartwell  desired  to  draw  around  her 
people  who  had  something  to  talk  about  instead  of 
those  who  make  conversation,  and  she  generally  suc- 
ceeded in  whatever  she  undertook.  As  she  said,  she 
"  hated  failures." 

Everett  Long  thought  her  very  attractive.  He  felt 
something  in  her  to  which  he  was  akin.  Her  inde- 
pendence, her  ability,  her  freedom  from  the  small  affec- 
tations of  the  average  woman  appealed  to  him.  Her 
confidence  in  her  own  power  communicated  itself  to 
him  and  he  found  himself  watching  her  every  move- 
ment and  listening  for  her  every  word. 

Dr.  Hartwell  was  comfortably  installed  at  one  side 

44 


of  the  room.  His  fatherly  pride  was  quite  visible  as  he 
marked  the  deference  paid  his  eldest  daughter.  Men 
whom  he  knew  as  scholars  and  eminent  in  different 
lines,  men  of  national  and  international  reputation,  con- 
versed with  her  as  an  equal,  not  as  with  most  women. 
There  was  no  palpable  letting  down  to  a  level  below 
their  own,  but  instead,  the  natural  exchange  of  com- 
rade with  comrade. 

Sarah  was  near  her  father,  quietly  attentive  to  his 
possible  wants  and  to  the  comfort  of  the  guests,  bear- 
ing but  little  part  in  the  animated  discussions  which 
followed  each  other  as  differing  views  were  presented. 
But  if  any  one  seemed  to  be  out  of  the  direct  wave  and 
a  little  lost  in  the  highly  intellectual  atmosphere  of  the 
room,  he  found  her  at  his  side  and  his  incipient  uneasi- 
ness soon  disappeared.  He  found  himself  speaking 
fluently  to  a  most  interested  listener,  and  when  she  left 
him  he  was  not  overburdened  with  a  sense  of  her  in- 
tellectual superiority. 

She  rose  and  moved  toward  the  door  as  some  one 
entered.  A  glad  expectation  was  in  her  face  as  Paul 
Masters  advanced  to  meet  her.  Only  a  low  word  or 
two  was  spoken  as  they  for  a  moment  clasped  hands,  a 
strange  salutation. 

"How  are  you  thinking?"  from  him. 

"  Love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law,"  from  her. 

A  light  shot  from  their  eyes,  met,  mingled,  and  faded 
as  he  passed  on  to  greet  Miss  Hartwell. 

She  looked  more  regal  than  ever  as  she  received  and 
welcomed  him,  the  contrast  between  her  commanding 
figure  and  his  own  operating  particularly  to  her  ad- 
vantage. 


It  was  surprising  to  mark  the  result  when  Paul  Mas- 
ters became  one  of  a  company.  Whatever  the  subject 
under  consideration,  little  by  little  the  interest  centred 
in  him  and  the  various  members  found  themselves 
listening  first  with  polite  attention,  and  later  with  an 
intense  absorption  which  for  the  time  shut  out  all  re- 
membrance of  his  physical  imperfections  and  recog- 
nized only  the  charm  of  his  face  and  voice,  the  power 
of  his  words. 

They  found  themselves  lifted  into  an  atmosphere 
and  a  region  hitherto  unknown  to  them  and  following 
liim  as  the  guide  who  was  leading  to  new  and  newer 
beauties  and  wonders.  He  transported  them  out  of 
their  every-day  selves,  and  they  met  these  with  some- 
thing like  a  shock  when  they  took  them  up  again. 

He  was  an  idealist,  some  of  them  said,  with  the  ex- 
planation which  does  not  explain,  but  is  the  refuge  of 
the  intellectualists  who  admit  nothing  but  "  facts." 

In  spite  of  his  physical  defects  he  impressed  them 
with  a  sense  of  power,  though  many  would  have  but 
hesitatingly  so  named  their  impression.  The  outer 
man  contradicted  it  too  palpably. 

Everett  came  to  him  as  he  sat  down.  Paul  looked 
up  in  his  face  as  he  took  his  hand.  "  Well  ? "  he  said. 

Everett  smiled.  "  Yes.  It  is  well  with  me,"  he  re- 
plied. 

They  conversed  for  a  few  minutes,  when  Paul 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  to  listen. 

"  The  atomic  theory  is  the  most  valuable  aid  to  sci- 
entific investigation  of  the  nature  of  matter  this  age 
has  furnished,"  some  one  was  saying. 

"  Undoubtedly !  "  replied  Miss  Hartwell.     "  But  we 


47 


must  not  forget  that  this  aid  is  as  yet  theory  only  and 
not  proven  fact.  Professor  Dolbear  is  very  careful  to 
say  that  it  is  inferential  knowledge  only." 

A  commendatory  rustle  pervaded  the  room  as  one 
learned  professor  nodded  to  another  learned  professor 
in  approval. 

"  Miss  Hartwell  takes  nothing  for  granted,"  said  the 
first. 

"  Quite  different  from  the  rest  of  her  sex,"  assented 
the  other. 

"  The  basic  atom  being  defined  as  a  'whirling  ring  of 
ether  in  the  ether/  "  continued  Miriam,  "  the  existence 
of  the  ether  and  the  nature  of  its  properties  must  first 
be  established." 

"  But  this  view  of  the  nature  of  the  atom  accounts 
for  all  material  phenomena,"  said  Professor  Latham. 

"  Possibly,  so  far  as  our  present  range  of  observation 
is  concerned,"  she  replied  quickly.  "I  am  quite  in 
favor  of  it.  It  interests  me  exceedingly.  But  I  wish 
to  see  it  demonstrated  as  fact." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  spoke  up  a  young  man  eagerly 
from  the  other  side  of  the  room,  who  had  read  Pro- 
fessor Dolbear's  book  and  saw  a  chance  to  demonstrate 
that  fact,  "he  has  shown  conclusively  that  all  phe- 
nomena are,  as  he  says,  reducible  to  nothing  more 
mysterious  than  a  push  and  a  pull." 

"Do  you  find  the  impetus  for  the  push  and  the 
pull  ? "  asked  Paul  Masters. 

"The  old  question  again,"  said  Miriam,  "and  still 
unanswerable." 

"Or  only  still  unanswered? — for  you,"  he  replied 
quietly. 


48 


"  But  I  am  open  to  conviction ! "  she  exclaimed, 
turning  toward  him.  "  I  am  ready  to  accept  whatever 
is  proved  to  be  true." 

"  My  daughter  always  maintains  the  scientific  atti- 
tude of  mind,"  said  Dr.  Hartwell. 

"When  you  determine  the  nature  of  the  proof?"  said 
Paul  so  gently  as  to  rob  his  words  of  all  offensiveness 
and  without  seeming  to  hear  her  father's  words. 

"  When  it  is  of  the  kind  accepted  by  all  great  minds, 
past  and  present,"  replied  Miriam  firmly.  "  When  it 
confronts  me  as  visible  fact." 

"  May  there  not  be  a  kind  which  is  recognized  by  all 
great  souls,  past  and  present  ? "  continued  Paul  Masters. 
"  A  kind  which  confronts  them  as  visible  fact  ? " 

No  one  spoke. 

"  Possibly.  I  am  acquainted  with  only  one  kind  of 
a  laboratory,"  she  said  finally. 

Sarah  was  looking  at  her  sister  with  a  yearning  ex- 
pression in  her  eyes  which  changed  to  confidence  as 
she  caught  Paul's  glance. 

"  Professor  Dolbear  says,"  he  went  on,  "  most  phe- 
nomena are  so  highly  complex  that  one  can  never  be 
quite  sure  he  is  dealing  with  all  the  factors  until  ex- 
periment proves  it.  May  it  not  be  possible  that  we 
are  possessed  of  senses  and  powers,  lying  dormant 
for  lack  of  cultivation,  which  enter  as  factors  into  the 
demonstration  of  the  nature  of  the  causes  of  phenom- 
ena ?  That  the  way  of  proof  is  open  to  us  if  we  become 
able  to  recognize  and  follow  it  ? " 

Some  of  his  listeners  looked  at  each  other  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  There  he  goes  again  !  " 

"  Of  course  we  may  suppose  this  and  work  accord- 


ing  to  the  supposition  if  one  thinks  it  worth  his  while," 
said  Miriam.  "  But  it  seems  to  me  a  dangerous  prac- 
tice and  likely  to  end  in  self-deception.  Emotion  and 
i  in  agination  are  unsafe  leaders  and  it  is  better  to  fol- 
low in  the  footsteps  of  those  intellectual  giants  who 
have  accomplished  so  much  for  us." 

"  By  all  means,  so  long  as  this  course  satisfies,"  re- 
plied Paul,  while  most  of  the  listeners  nodded  approv- 
ingly. "  I  know  that  many  here  are  in  sympathy  with 
this  theory  of  the  nature  of  matter.  So  am  I.  I  only 
wish  to  know  more.  If  there  be  this  all-pervasive  me- 
dium called  ether,  which  is  not  atomic  in  structure, 
presents  no  friction  to  bodies  moving  through  it,  and 
is  not  subject  to  the  law  of  gravitation,  and  compels 
by  this  nature  another  designation  than  matter ;  if  a 
vortex  ring  of  this  ether  is  the  basic  atom,  atoms  com- 
posing molecules  and  molecules  making  up  visible 
bodies  differing  from  each  other  according  to  the  rates 
and  modes  of  motion,  how  is  this  vortex  ring  formed 
in  the  ether  ? " 

He  paused  for  a  reply,  but  no  one  answered. 

"The  author  under  discussion  says,  l Imagine J  then, 
that  vortex  rings  were  in  some  way  formed  in  the 
ether,  constituted  of  the  ether.'  All  the  rest  follows. 
It  seems  to  me  that  even  here  much  depends  on  the 
imagination." 

"But  this  is  the  scientific  use  of  the  imagination," 
said  Professor  Latham  quickly.  "  Granting  the  vortex 
ring,  the  conclusions  are  sound." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  returned  Paul  quietly,  "  that  im- 
agination remains  imagination  whoever  uses  it;  and 
that  what  you  denominate  its  scientific  use  is  but  its 


50 


permissible  employment  by  the  scientific  investigator 
in  framing  an  hypothesis  which  will  account  for  facts 
he  cannot  deny,  but  which  he  cannot  satisfactorily  con- 
nect with  anterior  causes.  It  seems  a  little  odd  that 
the  scientific  caution  which  warns  against  the  dangers 
of  imagination  should  employ  it,  and  even  then  not  in 
a  definite  way.  The  atomic  theory  has,  from  the  con- 
sistent scientific  point  of  view,  a  fatal  weakness  in  its 
foundation.  'Some  way'  allows  very  wide  range  of 
speculation.  As  a  scientific  man  you  cannot  admit 
this  theory  correct  until  it  has  been  shown  how  the 
vortex  ring  is  formed.  Meantime  your  only  resource 
is  the  continued  exercise  of  your  imagination." 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  at  Professor  Latham, 
who  appeared  to  be  thinking  deeply  and  did  not 
reply. 

"He  is  right,"  finally  said  Miriam,  who  had  given 
Paul  undivided  attention. 

"  Why  is  it  not  equally  permissible,"  he  continued, 
"to  assume  powers  within  our  own  common  nature, 
which,  if  developed  and  brought  into  conscious  connec- 
tion with  physical  phenomena,  will  supply  the  evidence 
now  lacking,  because  they  constitute  some  of  the  fac- 
tors involved  ? " 

Everett  listened  with  absorbing  interest.  Since  he 
had  made  his  choice  as  to  whom  he  would  serve, 
whether  his  best  or  his  least,  he  had  felt  the  develop- 
ment in  himself  of  much  which  was  formerly  unknown 
to  him.  He  could  have  given  no  names  or  qualities  to 
inward  facts  as  yet  too  intangible  to  be  formulated 
and  labeled.  But  he  had  proof  of  their  reality. 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  spoke  up  the  young  man  from  the 


51 


other  side  of  the  room.  "  Any  one  can  see  that  your 
proposition  is  as  fair  as  the  other."  And  then  seeing 
all  eyes  turned  in  his  direction  he  blushed  painfully 
and  subsided. 

Glancing  toward  Sarah,  Everett  was  surprised.  With 
her  eyes  fixed  on  Paul's  face  her  own  glowed  as  from 
an  inward  sun.  A  flash  of  recognition  passed  between 
them  as  Paul  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  as  if  she  not 
only  knew  the  truth  of  what  his  words  suggested,  but 
far  more ;  as  if  their  minds  were  in  such  perfect  accord 
she  was  his  silent  corroborative  witness. 

"  There  is  a  missing  link  in  this  atomic  theory  yet  to 
be  supplied,"  assented  Miriam  with  a  graceful  inclina- 
tion of  her  head  in  the  direction  of  the  blushing  young 
man.  "  Who  can  furnish  it  ?  " 

Again  Paul  looked  at  Sarah,  who  returned  his  glance 
with  one  half  beseeching  as  she  drew  farther  back  in 
her  chair. 

"  Perhaps  your  sister  might  suggest  a  clew  to  it,"  he 
said.  "  I  have  found  her  views  very  interesting." 

All  eyes  were  turned  to  her,  in  some  astonishment 
plainly  visible.  While  the  regular  visitors  at  Dr.  Hart- 
well's  all  knew  and  liked  her,  she  had  been  so  over- 
shadowed by  her  brilliant  sister  that  when  topics  like 
the  present  were  under  discussion  their  interest  had 
centred  in  Miriam.  Paul  continued  to  look  at  her  en- 
couragingly as  she  hesitated,  noting  her  sister's  won- 
dering glance. 

"  Come !  Give  us  the  benefit  of  your  idea,  my  child," 
said  her  father. 

"  I  have  thought  that  among  others  two  of  Professor 
Dolbear's  statements  helped  in  this  direction,"  she  be- 


52 


gan.  "  If  l  every  kind  of  phenomena  is  the  result  of  the 
transfer  of  some  kind  of  motion  from  one  body  to  an- 
other/ and  if  l  motion  is  the  antecedent  of  motion,'  it 
seems  to  me  that  the  whirling  ring  of  ether  in  the  ether 
is  the  result  of  the  transfer  of  motion,  and  there  must 
be  an  antecedent  motion  as  a  cause  for  the  vortex  ring. 
This  brings  us  working  by  induction  to  a  primal  mo- 
tion, one  which  is  its  own  cause." 

"  In  other  words,  a  causeless  cause  ? "  asked  Professor 
Latham. 

"  Yes." 

"Do  you  mean  God,  Sarah?"  demanded  Miriam, 
with  an  air  of  readiness  to  dispose  of  the  whole  matter 
at  once. 

"  If  you  choose  to  so  apply  the  term,"  she  answered 
steadily. 

"  With  all  due  deference  to  your  and  every  one's  be- 
lief in  a  God,  one  which  I  wish  I  was  able  to  share,  I 
can  find  no  convincing  proof  to  sustain  it.  This  clew 
but  again  leads  us  to  the  unknowable,  it  seems  to  me," 
and  Miriam  leaned  back  in  her  chair  as  if  it  were  not 
worth  while  to  discuss  the  matter  further. 

"I  was  not  speaking  of  a  belief,  but  of  a  logical 
necessity,"  said  Sarah.  "  To  call  the  great  First  Cause, 
God,  does  not  mean  necessarily  a  personal  being  dwell- 
ing in  a  locality  called  heaven  and  ruling  all  things 
by  His  own  fiat ;  but  rather  that  No-thing  which  is  the 
beginning  of  all  things,  answering  approximately  to 
the  mathematical  point." 

"  Then  one  does  not  need  to  be  a  religionist  to  accept 
this  view  of  God  ? "  asked  Everett. 


53 


"Perhaps  not  after  the  orthodox  manner,"  inter- 
rupted Miriam  before  Sarah  could  answer.  "  But  re- 
ligionists of  any  kind  are  sure  to  be  one-sided  in  their 
views." 

"  How  is  it  with  intellectualists  ? "  asked  Everett  im- 
pulsively. "  May  not  the  realm  of  physics,  with  what 
it  indicates  even  more  than  what  it  includes,  bear  a 
relation  to  our  emotional  as  well  as  to  our  rational 
nature  ?  One  quite  worth  our  while  to  cultivate  and 
understand  if  we  can  ? " 

"  Oh !  Yes !  If  we  can ! "  she  said.  "  But  the  rational 
must  always  lead,  otherwise  we  shall  mistake  feeling 
for  demonstration.  The  glory  of  this  nineteenth  cent- 
ury is  the  recognition  accorded  to  reason  and  intellect- 
ual research  which  marks  all  true  progress,  and  the 
opening  vision  of  women  to  this  fact.  Their  saintly 
piety  belongs  to  a  bygone — an  undeveloped  age." 

And  the  flush  upon  her  cheeks,  the  sparkle  in  her 
eyes  as  she  spoke,  together  with  her  regal  carriage, 
made  her  most  attractive  in  the  eye  of  Everett  Long, 
suggesting  the  Miriam  of  old.  Might  she  not  be  the 
prophetess  of  the  new  age  whom  the  women  would 
follow  as  they  sang  their  song  of  victory? 

His  was  not  the  only  admiring  glance  directed  to- 
ward her.  That  subtlest  of  all  flattery,  intellectual 
homage,  was  accorded  her  from  every  man  in  the  room ; 
that  sweetest  of  all  incense,  women's  admiration  for  a 
woman,  as  well.  Only  her  sister  and  Paul  Masters 
seemed  to  stand  outside  the  charmed  circle.  Could  it 
be  pity  that  Everett  Long  detected  in  the  glance  they 
bent  upon  her? 


54 


The  conversation  became  more  general,  and  after  a 
few  moments  of  thoughtfulness  he  rose  and  seated 
himself  at  Sarah's  side. 

"The  question  at  issue  seems  to  have  lost  interest 
for  our  friends,"  he  said,  "but  what  you  have  said 
seems  very  suggestive  to  me.  I  should  like  to  follow 
it  further.  Can  you  form  that  conception  of  first 
cause  which  will  enable  you  by  logical  deduction  to 
reach  and  account  for  the  varying  phenomena  of 
nature?" 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  quietly. 

"  Such  cause  must  be  infinite,  it  seems  to  me ;  and  I 
do  not  see  how  a  finite  being  can  comprehend  it,"  he 
said. 

"  Neither  do  I,"  she  replied.  "  But  I  can  see  that  it 
is  possible  to  apprehend  it  sufficiently  to  draw  logical 
conclusions.  We  may  apprehend  through  the  woman 
in  ourselves  while  the  man  in  us  vainly  waits  for  his 
comprehension." 

He  was  more  than  surprised  now,  he  was  perplexed. 
What  did  she  mean  ?  She  remained  silent  and  seemed 
waiting  for  him  to  continue  the  conversation  if  he 
chose. 

"  Would  you  give  me  a  brief  outline  of  your  idea  ?  " 
he  said  finally. 

"  Most  gladly,"  she  replied,  turning  toward  him  cor- 
dially. "  But  let  me  first  ask  you  a  few  questions. 
Can  anything  be  evolved  which  is  not  involved  ? " 

"  As  an  abstraction,  no." 

"  What  is  called  the  varying  phenomena  of  nature  is 
the  orderly  unfolding  to  view  of  that  which  was  poten- 
tial or  hidden,  is  it  not  ? " 


"Yes." 

"  Then  it  is  all  involved  in  something  which  does  not 
appear  except  as  it  is  manifested  ? " 

He  nodded  thoughtfully. 

"  We  deal  with  a  series  of  effects  which  involve  op- 
rrative  causes,  do  we  not?" 

He  nodded  again. 

"Now  think  a  moment  of  the  words  'cause'  and 
'  motion.'  Your  concept  of  the  first,  as  well  as  of  the 
second,  will  include  action,  for  it  is  the  nature  of  cause 
to  produce." 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said. 

"  All  the  effects  we  see,  which  we  weigh,  measure, 
and  analyze,  are  'modes  of  motion,'  the  results  of 
'  transfer  of  energy,'  or  the  products  of  operative  causes 
which  are  related  to  others  more  remote,  possibly ;  but 
all  must  be  involved  in  first  cause,  the  primal  anteced- 
ent motion." 

"  At  present,  I  can  neither  admit  nor  deny  your  con- 
el  usion,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "Your  reasoning  ap- 
pears to  be  sound." 

"  Think  of  first  cause  as  intelligence,"  she  went  on. 
••  X<> !  Not  as  the  product  of  brain  " — as  he  seemed  about 
to  interrupt  her.  "  Intelligence  is  infinite.  Not  mine, 
nor  yours,  which  are  limited  at  present.  It  is  infinite 
in  its  possibilities,  or  in  what  it  involves.  It  is  that 
circle  whose  centre  is  everywhere  and  circumference 
nowhere.  It  has  two  aspects  for  us,  the  passive  and 
active ;  or,  what  it  is  in  itself,  and  what  it  does  because 
of  what  it  is.  The  action  of  first  cause,  or  the  opera- 
tion of  intelligence,  is  the  primal,  the  antecedent  mo- 
tion ;  the  '  push '  of  the  infinite  which  compels  not  only 


56 


the  phenomenon  of  nature,  but  that  of  individual  being 
and  the  recognition  of  both.  The  action  in  its  continu- 
ity becomes  the  '  pull '  through  this  developing  recog- 
nition in  ourselves.  What  in  finite  intelligence  is,  is  the 
unknown  which  gradually  becomes  the  known  through 
what  it  does,  the  process  being  the  orderly  evolution 
of  what  is  involved  in  it ;  that  evolution  which  is  the 
gradual  manifestation  of  God.  The  action  of  Infinite 
Mind,  Primal  Force,  Creative  Energy,  Antecedent  Mo- 
tion— call  it  what  you  will — is  the  Word  which  is  to 
be  made  flesh.  You  and  I,  as  this  evolution  goes  on, 
are  to  embody  it.  We  are  to  become  the  living  Word." 

Her  tone  had  gradually  become  lower  and  lower,  so 
that  what  she  said  was  inaudible  to  those  about  them 
even  while  its  intensity  thrilled  him.  He  seemed  con- 
scious of  a  curious  change.  She  was  far  away  from 
him.  Her  voice  seemed  to  come  from  a  distance  and 
to  have  a  rhythmic  vibration.  She  was  looking  down 
upon  him  from  a  far-off  height.  Colors  seemed  to 
radiate  from  her  and  play  about  her,  meeting,  separat- 
ing, darting,  melting,  till  they  merged  the  one  in  the 
other,  and  a  pure  white  light,  dazzling  in  its  radiance, 
shut  her  from  view. 

"  Will  you  take  a  cup  of  tea  with  me,  Mr.  Long  ? " 

What  was  that  crash  ?  Was  it  only  some  one  speak- 
ing to  him  ?  Miriam  Hartwell  stood  beside  him. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  had  been  dreaming,"  she  said. 
"  Have  my  sister's  transcendental  physics  earned  you 
out  of  yourself?" — with  a  smile  fully  one-half  ironical. 

"  I  quite  believe  it,"  he  said  with  a  slightly  puzzled 
expression  as  he  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  "  May 
I  trespass  on  your  kindness  still  further,  Miss  Sarah," 


57 


he  continued,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  Miriam's  invita- 
tion, as  indeed  he  had  not,  "  and  ask  you  to  come  down 
to  particulars  and  show  me  how  the  vortex  ring  is  to 
be  accounted  for  with  your  theory  ? " 

The  color  flashed  to  Miriam's  face,  and  her  eyes, 
always  brilliant,  fairly  glittered  as  with  a  hardly  per- 
ceptible shrug  of  the  shoulders  she  turned  away  and 
walked  to  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

Sarah  hesitated  a  moment. 

"  If  this  view  of  the  nature  of  first  cause  is  altogether 
new  to  you,"  she  said  finally,  "  I  doubt  if  I  can  tell  you 
so  as  to  be  clearly  understood.  I  would  rather  not 
appear  dogmatic,  but  without  time  for  careful  and  sys- 
tematic deduction  I  fear  I  cannot  help  it. 

"  If  we  accept  mind,  intelligence,  as  first  cause — the 
abstract — its  direct  effect  would  be  its  concrete  ex- 
pression. If  these  terms  are  synonymous  with  con- 
sciousness, this  concrete  expression  is  individualized 
consciousness — individualized  as  related  to  its  cause, 
universal  as  related  to  its  own  effects.  Hence  it  would 
fill  and  include  all  space.  This  is  the  ether  of  modern 
science,  which  cannot  be  described  in  the  terms  we  em- 
ploy for  matter,  as  it  must  precede  matter  in  the  order 
from  first  cause  down  to  visible  phenomena.  Being 
the  product  of  action  or  motion,  which  is  ceaseless,  it 
must  possess  motion  as  a  transfer  from  its  cause.  This 
motion,  in  form,  must  be  round  or  a  ring.  The  circle 
is  the  symbol  of  that  which  is  ceaseless.  Is  it  very 
obscure  ?  Do  I  tire  you  ? "  she  asked  suddenly,  looking 
at  him  as  if  she  would  not  be  surprised  were  he  to  ap- 
pear bored. 

"  No?  indeed  not,"  he  answered  quickly.  "  Pray  go  on." 


58 


"  What  mind  is,  is  expressed  by  the  ether.  What 
mind  does,  is  expressed  in  the  ether.  It  pushes  from 
and  pulls  to  itself.  The  divine  energy  goes  forth  in 
expression,  it  returns  in  manifestation.  As  it  goes 
forth  it  differentiates,  reaching  its  highest  differentia- 
tion at  the  point  where  its  return  begins.  The  vortex 
ring,  as  the  basic  atom  of  the  visible  world,  is  the  mo- 
tion of  infinite  mind  transferred  to  that  individualized 
consciousness  which  is  universal  for  all  souls  or  self s. 
The  differentiation  we  see  as  the  physical  universe  is 
but  the  objectivity  of  its  inherent  possibilities. 

"The  world  of  matter  is  but  the  extremity  of  the 
'  push '  and  the  point  in  the  sequence  involved  in  mind 
where  the  l  pull '  begins.  '  The  only  variable  factor  is 
motion.'  Mind  is  forever  the  same.  Its  immediate 
product,  the  ether,  is  always  the  same.  Its  secondary 
product,  the  vortex  ring  or  basic  atom,  is  always  the 
same  because  always  sustained  in  the  ether  by  the  an- 
tecedent motion,  which,  potentially,  includes  all  forms 
of  motion.  Its  form  appears  as  the  ring.  The  forms 
included  in  that  form,  due  to  the  relation  between 
cause  and  effect,  appear  as  the  l  three  primary  modes ' 
of  the  atom.  Their  compounds  and  interrelations 
appear  as  the  physical  universe.  That  which  does  not 
thus  appear  is  greater  than  all.  And  '  it  doth  not  yet 
appear  what  we  shall  be.7  But  to  be  'the  image  of 
God '  includes  everything,  potentially.  Do  you  realize 
what  this  means  ? " 

He  shook  his  head  half  doubtfully,  half  sadly. 

"  Indeed  I  do  not — cannot.     Who  does  ? " 

"  Who  indeed !  "  she  replied.  "  Were  it  so  we  should 
have  god-men  instead  of  blind  human  souls.  But  it  is. 


59 


to  be."  And  she  raised  her  head  as  if  she  already  felt 
the  dignity  of  an  inborn  divinity. 

"Where  did  you  get  these  ideas,  Miss  Sarah?"  he 
asked  abruptly. 

"  Where  they  and  more  are  always  to  be  found,"  she 
answered  quietly.  "From  the  within.  Pardon  me," 
she  continued,  rising  from  her  chair  as  he  was  about 
to  speak;  "my  father  needs  me."  And  she  left  him 
before  he  could  utter  the  thanks  upon  his  lips. 

When  the  guests  had  departed  and  Sarah  had  gone 
up-stairs  to  her  own  room  after  giving  the  careful  over- 
sight necessary  below,  she  found  the  door  leading  to 
her  sister's  room  closed.  It  usually  stood  open  at  night 
or  whenever  Miriam,  not  being  engaged  in  work  at  her 
desk,  might  need  her  sister's  friendly  offices. 

She  stood  for  a  moment  as  if  undecided  what  to  do, 
then  prepared  for  bed.  Shutting  off  the  gas  she  went 
to  the  window  and  leaning  far  out  inhaled  the  crisp 
night  air.  Raising  her  head  she  looked  yearningly 
into  the  starlit  expanse  above,  motionless,  as  if  waiting 
for  something.  Slowly  a  look  of  perfect  peace  and 
rest  overspread  her  face. 

In  the  next  room  Miriam  was  walking  up  and  down 
with  a  perplexed  expression.  "What  is  the  matter 
with  me  ? "  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  have  determined  on 
my  course,  and  have  always  been  able  to  rule  out  of 
mind  whatever  interfered  with  my  ambition." 

Drawing  the  curtains  aside  she  looked  out  at  the 
distant  lights  of  the  city,  listening  to  the  hum  and  stir 
which  the  darkness  of  night  could  not  entirely  extin- 
guish. 

"  There  is  nothing  like  power,"  she  mused.     "  Noth- 


60 


ing  can  take  its  place.  I  crave  it,  I  long  for  it,  I  will 
have  it ! "  And  her  thought  took  expression  on  her 
body  in  an  attitude  of  command.  "  What  are  the  do- 
mestic joys  " — and  her  lip  curled — "  which  content  the 
undeveloped  woman,  compared  to  it?  I  will  be  no 
man's  housekeeper  and  nursery  maid.  I  will  be  the 
peer  of  any  man  in  the  intellectual  world.  I  will  help 
to  shape  the  mind  and  mold  the  thought  of  the  coming 
generations.  My  name  shall  live !  " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  'ERE's  yer  ' Shouter' !  '  Rattler' !  mornin' < Plunger' ! 
All  ther  news  fer  two  cents !  " 

Following  the  voice  a  grimy  paw  was  thrust  through 
the  car  door  to  make  room  for  a  still  more  grimy  face. 

Everett  Long  beckoned  to  the  boy,  who  shuffled  un- 
steadily along  the  jolting  car  to  where  he  sat.  As  he 
paid  for  his  paper  and  settled  back  preparatory  to 
reading  it,  his  attention  was  again  drawn  to  the  boy, 
who  was  endeavoring  fruitlessly  to  make  change  for 
his  next  neighbor. 

"  Give  us  change  fer  a  nick,  mister  ? "  said  he,  evi- 
dently encouraged  in  his  request  by  a  look  at  Everett's 
face. 

He  produced  the  desired  change,  looking  at  him 
more  intently  as  he  did  so.  "  Of  whom  does  that  boy 
remind  me?"  he  mused.  "I  have  seen  eyes  like  his 
before." 

Suddenly  a  wave  of  color  passed  over  his  face  and, 
receding,  left  a  saddened  expression  in  its  place.  He 
unfolded  his  paper  and  began  to  read  only  to  be  inter- 
rupted by  some  one  falling  and  an  exchange  of  oaths 
at  the  other  end  of  the  car.  The  boy  was  picking 
himself  up,  shielding  his  head  with  one  arm  as  if  he 
expected  a  blow,  while  he  muttered  as  loudly  as  he 
dared: 

61 


62 


"  Can't  yer  take  care  o'  yer  feet  ? " 

"Can't  you  get  out  of  a  car  without  stepping  on 
some  one  ? "  returned  Walter  Hemmingway,  who  was 
sitting  near  the  door,  impatiently. 

Everett  noticed  that  he  looked  heavy-eyed,  was  some- 
what unsteady  of  hand,  and  that  a  coarsening  redness 
was  increasing  in  his  face  and  neck.  Poor  girl !  he  said 
to  himself,  as  his  thoughts  reverted  to  Emma.  Paul 
had  been  right  when  he  told  him  he  was  not  really  in 
love  with  her.  He  had  kept  his  promise  and  called 
upon  them,  more  than  once,  and  found  that  his  pulse 
beat  in  her  presence  as  calmly  as  ever,  that  his  only 
feeling  was  one  of  sympathy  and  compassion. 

He  was  clearer-eyed  than  formerly  and  could  see 
that  her  clinging  affection  would  not  have  satisfied 
him  later  on — that  he  would  have  felt  a  lack  in  her. 
Miriam  Hartwell  was  so  different !  so  strong  and  cour- 
ageous ! 

A  spring  by  the  conductor  at  the  end  of  the  car  and 
a  scream  were  simultaneous.  Everett  was  the  first  to 
jump  from  it  as  it  stopped,  and  helped  the  conductor 
lift  the  boy  from  the  ground. 

"  The  wheels  have  passed  over  his  foot,"  he  said  as 
he  bent  over  him  and  tried  to  stop  the  flow  of  blood. 
A  policeman  near  by  sent  in  a  call  for  an  ambulance, 
which  soon  came  clanging  up  the  street. 

"Is  he  seriously  injured?"  he  asked  of  the  surgeon 
as  the  boy  was  lifted  in  and  made  as  comfortable  as 
possible. 

"  Looks  like  it,"  returned  the  other  in  a  matter-of- 
fact  way  as  he  sprang  to  his  seat  in  the  rear. 

Ascertaining  to  what  hospital  the  boy  would  be  car- 


63 


ried,  in  the  afternoon  he  went  to  inquire  the  extent  of 
his  injuries.  While  the  child  was  not  particularly 
attractive — rather  the  contrary,  he  would  say — he  felt 
in  some  way  drawn  to  him,  could  not  get  him  out  of 
his  thoughts.  It  was  because  of  the  accident  probably, 
he  said  to  himself.  He  found  the  decision  of  the  ex- 
amining physicians  to  be  that  the  boy  would  recover, 
although  he  would  always  be  lame.  Asking  if  he 
could  see  him,  he  was  shown  to  the  ward  where  he  lay 
and  where  he  found  Paul  Masters  sitting  by  the  cot. 

"  Why,  Paul !  How  do  you  come  to  be  here  ? "  he  asked 
surprised.  "  I  need  not  ask  though,"  he  added.  "  You 
are  usually  to  be  found  with  those  who  need  help." 

As  Paul  looked  up  at  him,  Everett  noted,  as  he  had 
often  done  before,  the  steady  light  in  his  deep  blue  eyes. 

"  I  have  had  an  interest  in  this  little  fellow  for  some 
time,"  Paul  said. 

The  boy  took  slight  notice  of  them  as  they  looked  at 
him  and  conversed  in  low  tones.  He  was  stupefied  by 
the  opiates  which  had  been  given  him  to  deaden  his 
pain.  Now  and  then  he  attempted  to  move,  and  mut- 
tered half -inaudible  profanity  as  he  found  himself 
unable. 

As  the  two  friends  withdrew,  Everett  stopped  to  ask 
the  attendant  to  do  all  that  was  possible  for  the  child's 
comfort,  as  he  would  be  responsible  for  the  expense 
involved,  and  followed  Paul  from  the  building. 

"  Let  us  sit  down  for  a  while  in  the  park,"  said  the 
latter  as  he  led  the  way  in  that  direction. 

"  Did  you  see  the  announcement  of  Miss  Hartwell's 
newly  acquired  dignity  in  this  morning's  '  Plunger '  f  " 
asked  Everett  as  they  sat  down. 


64 


"  Not  yet,"  replied  Paul.     "  What  is  it? » 

"  She  has  been  admitted  to  membership  in  the  l  Athe- 
nian Circle '  —  the  first  woman  to  be  accorded  that 
honor.  Only  men  of  unusual  prominence  in  the  intel- 
lectual world  have  found  it  possible  to  become  mem- 
bers." 

Paul  remained  silent. 

"  You  do  not  seem  surprised/'  continued  Everett. 

"  No.  I  expect  she  will  reach  the  height  of  her  am- 
bition." 

"  She  is  a  grand  woman,"  said  Everett  as  he  straight- 
ened himself  and  drew  a  deep,  full  breath.  "Happy 
the  man  who  wins  her." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  said  Paul  with  a  quiet  smile. 

"  Why,  surely  you  agree  with  me !  "  returned  Everett 
as  he  looked  searchingly  at  his  companion. 

"It  depends  upon  the  man,"  replied  Paul.  "She  is 
not  the  woman  for  you." 

The  blood  surged  to  Everett's  face.  "  Pardon  me  ! " 
he  said  a  little  stiffly.  "I  cannot  hear  you  speak  of 
her  in  this  way.  I  asked  her  yesterday  to  be  my  wife." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Paul  without  seeming  to  notice  the 
change.  "  She  told  you,  while  acknowledging  an  inter- 
est in  you  above  most  men  she  had  met,  she  did  not 
wish  to  marry  as  it  would  interfere  with  the  career  she 
had  marked  out  for  herself.  And  you,  while  assuring 
her  to  the  contrary,  begged  her  to  reconsider  her  de- 
cision and  give  you  her  answer  a  fortnight  hence." 

Everett  stared  at  his  friend  in  blank  astonishment. 

"  How  did  you  know  that  ? "  he  demanded  finally. 
"  Surely,  she  did  not —  " 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  Paul,  placing  a  soothing 


65 


hand  upon  his  friend's  shoulder.  "Miss  Hartwell  is  a 
strong  woman.  She  is  able  to  settle  personal  matters 
for  herself  without  seeking  help  from  others." 

"  Then  how  in  the  name  of  all  that's  mysterious  did 
you  know  this  ? "  said  Everett  again. 

"One  has  but  to  have  a  strong  interest  in  another 
and  be  a  keen  observer  to  see  and  know  much,"  replied 
Paul.  "  It  requires  no  exceptional  perception  to  know 
what  a  woman  like  Miss  Hartwell  would  do  under  given 
circumstances.  Then  there  is  another  way.  Thought 
is  creative.  Every  one  carries  with  him  a  personal  at- 
mosphere filled  with  his  thought  creations.  One  skilled 
in  a  kind  of  knowledge  ignored  by  physicists  can  see 
and  read  them." 

While  Paul  was  speaking  Everett  did  not  take  his 
eyes  from  his  face.  He  had  learned  much  from  him, 
had  for  Paul  great  respect  and  affection ;  but  this ! 
Another  thought  struck  him.  If  it  was  true,  one  able 
to  see  and  read  thought  creations  would  be  the  most 
dangerous  kind  of  a  spy. 

Paul  smiled.  "  Have  no  fears,  my  friend,"  he  said. 
"  The  obligations  of  friendship  are  sacred.  Moreover, 
one  who  possesses  this  power  in  its  higher  form,  who 
looks  down  upon  this  thought  world  from  a  height 
beyond,  is  incapable  of  abusing  it." 

Everett  had  said  nothing.  Here  was  proof  that 
thoughts  could  be  seen  and  read,  for  Paul  had  answered 
his  own  at  the  moment. 

"  Let  us  return  to  our  subject,"  continued  Paul  after 
a  pause,  as  Everett  remained  silent.  "I  repeat,  Miss 
Hartwell  is  not  the  woman  for  your  wife,  grand  woman 
as  she  is.  But  I  must  wait  for  you  to  prove  this.  You 


66 


cannot — and  should  not — accept  and  act  upon  my  dec- 
laration. I  wish  to  speak  to  you  of  another  matter. 
Do  you  know  who  that  boy  whom  we  have  just  left  is  f " 

"No." 

"  He  is  your  son ! " 

A  shock  as  of  electricity  passed  through  Everett 
Long  and  left  him  speechless  for  the  moment,  in  which 
two  sparrows  on  the  ground  near  him,  quarreling  over 
a  diminutive  worm,  seemed  the  only  things  in  the  world 
claiming  his  attention. 

"  My  son ! "  he  said  at  last  feebly,  as  the  power  of 
speech  struggled  back  to  consciousness. 

"Yes." 

The  blood  rushed  through  his  veins  with  redoubled 
velocity  after  the  check  it  had  received.  His  son !  It 
could  not  be  possible  !  Incidents  in  his  past  life  rose 
upon  the  plane  of  his  mental  vision,  passed  quickly, 
and  were  gone.  He  turned  upon  Paul  finally  as  he 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and  said : 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?    Speak  out,  and  quickly !  " 

"  He  is  Helen  Mathers'  son  and  yours." 

Helen  Mathers!  Swiftly  memory  brought  before 
him  the  time  of  his  early  manhood,  when  he  was  a  man 
in  the  strength  of  his  impulses  and  desires,  and  a  boy 
in  his  ability  or  wish  to  control  them.  During  a  sum- 
mer's outing  at  a  country  village  where  she  had  spent 
the  season  with  her  mother — a  weak  and  fashionable 
woman  who  consoled  herself  for  the  temporary  social 
burial  necessitated  by  her  husband's  financial  reverses 
with  novel-reading  and  white  wrappers,  to  the  neglect 
of  her  daughter — he  had  met  her ;  met  her  too  often,  he 
remembered.  He  had  left  the  place  first  and  had  never 


67 


seen  her  since.  He  had  even  forgotten  her  till — yes ! 
It  was  her  eyes  of  which  the  boy's  had  reminded  him 
that  morning  in  the  car. 

God  in  heaven !  What  ghost  from  that  past  he  was 
learning  to  abhor  was  come  to  confront  him  now  .' 

He  sank  to  his  seat  again  as  if  lacking  strength  to 
stand,  but  grasped  its  iron  arm  and  braced  himself 
quickly. 

"  Go  on/'  he  said  in  a  constrained  voice.  He  did  not 
see  Paul's  glance  as  it  was  bent  upon  him,  full  of 
yearning  tenderness  like  a  mother's  for  her  dearly  loved 
child  when  it  suffers,  and  with  whom  she  would  so 
gladly  change  places  if  she  could. 

"  After  you  left  Grovedale,"  and  Paul's  voice  as  he 
went  on  was  gentle,  though  firm  and  purposeful,  "  her 
mother  awoke  to  the  situation  to  which  she  seemed 
blind  while  you  were  there.  Its  consequences  were 
forced  upon  her.  She  went  away  with  her  daughter 
and  they  did  not  return  to  their  home  for  nearly  a 
year.  It  was  given  out  that  they  were  traveling  for  the 
benefit  of  Mrs.  Mathers'  health,  who,  while  not  seriously 
ill,  was  unequal  to  the  demands  of  social  life  in  the  city. 
This  excuse  was  accepted  in  good  faith  even  by  Mr. 
Mathers,  who  had  all  he  could  do  to  supply  the  funds. 
The  winter  after  their  return  Helen  was  brought  out 
and  married  at  the  close  of  the  season." 

Paul  paused,  but  as  Everett's  eyes  continued  to  ques- 
tion he  went  on : 

"  They  were  living  in  a  distant  city  under  assumed 
names  when  the  child  was  born.  It  was  placed  with 
strangers,  and  its  support  was  paid  for  till  after  Helen 
and  her  mother  left  the  place,  which  they  did  secretly 


68 


as  soon  as  she  was  able  to  travel.  The  boy  grew  up 
anyway,  anyhow,  uncared  for  and  abused  till  he  drifted 
to  Benton,  where  he  has  been  for  nearly  a  year.  He 
belongs  to  no  one,  and  no  one  belongs  to  him.  You  see 
plenty  of  his  kind  in  every  large  city.  He  is  the  prod- 
uct of  his  environment — and  of  his  begetting." 

Paul  observed  his  companion  intently  as  he  uttered 
the  last  words.  Everett's  head  fell  forward.  He 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  remained  silent. 
For  a  time  neither  moved.  Paul  had  an  air  of  waiting 
— waiting  with  peace  and  confidence  for  something. 
His  face  was  serene,  his  eyes  looked  out  into  space  as 
his  head  rested  against  the  back  of  the  seat.  It  hardly 
came  above  it  when  he  sat  as  erect  as  his  slight  frame 
would  allow. 

So  small !     So  weak !     So  powerless ! 

So  great !     So  strong !     So  powerful ! 

Everett  heard  the  beating  of  his  own  heart  as  it 
thumped  and  labored  within  him.  Once,  even  a  short 
two  years  ago,  he  would  have  but  little  heeded  such  an 
announcement.  It  was  the  way  of  the  world,  common 
enough,  he  would  have  said.  But  now  it  was  a  revela- 
tion. He  could  not  turn  lightly  from  what  it  showed 
him.  The  man  born  since  then,  though  very  immature, 
could  not  fail  to  see  through  such  sophistry.  With  him 
was  active  a  sense  dormant  in  the  old  man — the  sense 
of  justice. 

"As  a  man  soweth,  so  shall  he  reap." 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  to  question  the  truth  of  Paul's 
announcement.  He  knew  him  too  well.  He  groaned 
aloud.  A  wave  of  feeling  passed  over  Paul's  face,  but 
he  did  not  speak. 


"  I  cannot  do  it !  I  cannot  do  it !  n  exclaimed  Everett 
suddenly,  straightening  himself  with  his  hand  clenched 
on  his  knee. 

A  glory  lit  up  Paul's  face  which  made  it  shine  as  a 
star;  a  light  which  suggested  the  same  remoteness. 
Taking  the  clenched  hand  in  both  his  own  he  said 
quietly  but  very  distinctly,  "  You  are  able  to  do  what- 
ever your  own  conviction  of  right  demands." 

Everett  turned  upon  him  with  some  of  his  former 
fierceness.  "  You  ask  too  much !  It  is  more  than  hu- 
man nature  can  perform  !  " 

"J  ask  of  you  nothing.  You  ask  it  of  yourself. 
Your  higher  nature  demands  it  of  you,"  replied  Paul. 

"  Why  should  this  fall  altogether  on  me  ?  I  was  not 
alone  to  blame,"  exclaimed  Everett  after  another  pause. 
And  then  ashamed  of  having  even  for  a  moment  seemed 
to  shelter  himself  behind  a  woman,  he  continued,  "  No  ! 
Let  it  rest  with  me !  "  only  to  burst  out  a  moment  later 
as  his  thoughts  reverted  to  Miriam  Hartwell  and  the 
possible  consequences  to  himself  if  he  did  what  his  con- 
science forced  upon  him  as  his  duty  to  the  boy : 

"But  what  can  I  do?  My  God!  What  shall  I 
do?" 

He  turned  toward  Paul  appealingly,  while  his  face 
quivered  with  his  strong  emotion. 

"  Let  us  first  review  the  circumstances  as  calmly  as 
possible,"  said  the  latter.  "  When  barely  twenty,  a 
child  in  your  power  of  self-control,  you  met  this  girl 
four  years  younger  than  yourself,  under  circumstances 
which  threw  you  together  for  companionship  and  with- 
out frequent  oversight.  The  seduction — to  call  it  such 
— was  mutual;  was  without  intention  on  either  side. 


70 


There  was  no  wickedness,  no  premeditated  plan.  Your 
relation  was  the  natural  result  of  sex-magnetism  unre- 
strained by  the  moral  nature  which  had  not  sufficiently 
developed.  You  had  both  heard,  in  a  general,  indefinite 
way,  of  the  unlawfulness  of  such  relation,  as  all  young 
people  do ;  but  you  had  never  been  taught  the  natural- 
ness of  your  own  impulses,  the  dignity  of  their  right 
fulfillment,  and  the  dangers  of  ignorance. 

"  She  was  as  innocent  as  most  ignorant  girls  are,  but 
she  was  full  of  vigor  and  health  and  mistook  the  at- 
traction you  had  for  her  for  love.  Equally,  hers  for 
you  was  love  also,  as  love  appeared  to  you  at  that  time. 
Your  strong  dominant  nature  was  too  much  for  her 
more  feeble  one ;  for  hers  was  an  exceedingly  sensuous 
temperament,  the  legitimate  product  of  her  parentage, 
not  strong  enough  to  withstand  natural  attraction  when 
undefended  "by  moral  integrity.  You  flowed  together 
as  naturally  as  two  streams,  the  barrier  between  them 
being  removed,  become  one.  It  was  nature  pure  and 
simple,  for  though  outwardly  you  were  both  veneered 
with  that  conventionalism  which  accompanies  our  civil- 
ization, inwardly  you  were  both  on  the  animal  plane  of 
existence. 

"  The  mistake  you  made  will  be  repeated  till  men  and 
women  learn  that  marriage  is  not  the  legalized  oppor- 
tunity for  self-indulgence  regardless  of  results,  thus 
begetting  offspring  who  are  the  living  incarnation  of 
this  indulgence ;  till  parents  learn  that  education  of  the 
young  begins  instead  of  ends  with  knowledge  of  their 
own  natures  and  their  consequences,  physiological  as 
well  as  moral.  But  the  sin  of  ignorance  bears  fruit 
equally  with  the  wilful  sin,  You  have  both  to  pluck 


71 


and  eat  it,  for  law  is  inexorable.  Her  line  of  life  has 
led  away  from  yours.  You  know  nothing  of  her,  and 
at  present  have  no  responsibility  regarding  her.  But 
yours  has  led  you  directly  to  this  boy,  the  product  of 
his  parents'  passion  before  they  had  time  to  know  the 
meaning  of  love. 

"  Everett  Long !  You  have  changed  much  in  the  last 
year  and  a  half.  Then  you  said  to  me  you  were  able 
to  bear  the  consequences  of  your  own  acts.  You  would 
never  seek  to  throw  them  upon  another."  Everett 
started.  "  You  are  no  longer  the  man  of  impulse,  liv- 
ing for  the  moment.  Your  eyes  are  opening  to  the 
grand  meaning  of  life,  to  that  continuity  which  leads 
you  to  a  region  dazzling  in  its  possibilities.  You  are 
able  to  answer  your  own  question.  What  will  you  do  ? 
What  ought  you  to  do  ? » 

Paul's  voice  ceased,  but  many  rang  in  Everett's  ears, 
some  mockingly,  some  mournfully,  but  all  persistently : 
"What  will  you  do?" 

"  I  ought  to  take  him  from  his  present  conditions  and 
provide  him  with  better,  and  I  will ;  especially  as  he  is 
likely  to  be  crippled  for  life/'  he  replied  finally. 

"  Any  man  without  others  depending  upon  him  for 
support  could  do  that,"  said  Paul.  "  Is  he  entitled  to 
nothing  more?" 

Everett  started  to  speak,  but  remained  silent  as  if 
aware  of  the  uselessness  of  reply. 

"  Every  child  born  into  this  world,"  continued  Paul, 
"  is  entitled  to  parents  as  long  as  these  wear  the  flesh. 
This  one  is  the  product  of  your  pleasure.  Is  it  right, 
is  it  manly  to  leave  its  consequences  with  him  while 
you  avoid  them  ?  You  can  care  for  and  educate  him — • 


72 


yes.  But  then  you  will  have  done  your  least,  not  your 
best.  You  can,  if  you  will,  give  him  a  father." 

"  But  what  would  that  mean  for  me  ? "  exclaimed 
Everett.  "How  can  I  stand  before  the  world  as  the 
father  of  an  illegitimate  son  ?  " 

"Is  it  the  fact  or  not?" 

Everett  folded  his  arms  across  his  heaving  chest  as 
if  to  hold  it  within  bounds,  and  did  not  reply. 

"  Which  is  more  to  be  regretted  of  the  two,"  continued 
Paul — and  now  there  was  a  touch  of  sternness  in  his 
voice — "the  fact,  or  the  world's  knowledge  of  it?" 

"  O  Paul !  "  said  his  companion  appealingly,  "  the  fact, 
of  course-.  I  know  that.  But  it  cannot  be  altered. 
Present  circumstances  can  be  dealt  with.  Even  if  I 
could  bring  myself  to  do  this,  the  consequences  of  his 
illegitimacy  will  remain.  He  will  have  no  mother." 

"  But  their  weight  will  be  lightened,"  returned  Paul. 
"  A  father's  protection  will  save  him  much  that  other- 
wise he  must  experience,  and  give  him  the  benefit  of 
example.  A  man's  example  is  good,  but  a  father's  is 
better." 

Slowly,  in  spite  of  his  natural  resistance  to  it,  Ever- 
ett Long's  conviction  of  duty  was  increasing.  The 
right,  the  noble  thing,  was  coming  home  to  him  with 
added  force  as  he  pictured  the  boy's  probable  future. 
He  could  place  him  where  he  would  have  good  moral 
training  with  his  education,  and  physical  care.  But 
who  would  have  the  interest  in  him  that  a  parent  would 
have?  Could  money  supply  what  only  this  relation 
afforded  ?  More,  as  a  matter  of  strict  justice,  of  equity 
rather  than  human  law,  to  what  was  the  child  entitled 


73 


by  his  birth  ?  Through  his  own  self-indulgence  the  boy 
was  here.  What  were  his  rights  I 

He  could  not  evade  these  questions,  though  his  own 
hopes  of  the  future  were  menaced  by  them.  But  were 
they  so  seriously  menaced  after  all!  Suddenly  a  new 
one  sprang  up  within  him.  If  Miriam  Hartwell  on 
second  thought  should  consider  his  proposal  favorably, 
as  he  hoped  and  believed  very  probable,  would  she  not 
recognize  the  justice  of  such  action  as  his  conscience 
demanded  of  him?  He  had  told  her  frankly  of  his 
past,  she  could  not  accuse  him  of  deception.  Would 
.she  not  cooperate  with  him  in  the  performance  of  his 
duty  ?  She  was  such  a  grand  woman  !  The  ordinary 
woman  would  not,  could  not,  do  this.  But  she  ! 

As  he  meditated,  varying  expressions  passed  over 
Paul's  face ;  sympathy,  hopefulness,  assurance,  followed 
by  sadness  as  Everett  reached  his  conclusions. 

"  You  know  my  hopes  and  wishes,  Paul,"  said  Ever- 
ett finally,  turning  toward  him.  "  I  must  let  the  mat- 
ter wait  till  I  have  seen  Miss  Hartwell.  I  owe  her  this." 

"  You  owe  her  this,"  repeated  Paul  assentingly  after 
a  moment's  thought.  "  And  now  let  me  tell  you  of  my 
great  joy  over  one  victory  you  have  gained.  You  have 
not  once  thought  of  concocting  a  story  to  legitimize 
the  child,  thereby  making  the  performance  of  your  duty 
toward  him  easier.  While  this  could  readily  be  done — 
'  a  secret  marriage/  and  all  the  rest  of  it — you  havS  not 
applied  this  salve  to  your  conscience  under  the  plea 
that  it  would  be  better  for  the  child.  My  friend !  of 
whom  I  travail  in  birth  till  the  divine  be  formed  in 
you" — and  he  placed  both  hands  affectionately  on 


74 


Everett's  shoulders — "  you  are  making  progress  in  the 
fulfilling  of  your  destiny,  that  destiny  which  is  involved 
in  your  origin.  We  come  from,  we  go  to,  the  eternal. 
Existence  is  growth.  Experience  furnishes  the  condi- 
tions. Whatever  conies  to  you,  be  not  bowed  under  it. 
Stand  above  it,  upheld  by  your  potential  divinity.  You 
are  able  to  accomplish  all  right  things." 

A  peculiar  influence  seemed  to  steal  over  him,  as  had 
often  happened  when  he  listened  to  Paul  as  he  gave 
expression  to  his  thoughts.  Although  at  first  quieted 
and  stilled,  his  senses  of  hearing  and  touch  seemed  to 
be  extended.  He  came  out  of  bounds.  He  came  into, 
he  flowed  into  all  things  about  him,  a  consciousness 
entering  into  the  vibrating  life  of  all  objects.  He  par- 
took of  their  life,  their  energy.  He  felt  with  them. 
He  could  hear  their  feelings.  He  became  one  with 
them.  He  was  not  himself  and  yet  he  was  himself,  but 
a  different  self,  one  that  overflowed  former  barriers. 
He  seemed  to  belong  to  a  universal  pulsating  rhythm 
which  he  could  see,  hear,  smell,  and  taste,  which  in- 
creased in  volume  till — 

"  Let  us  go,"  Paul  was  saying,  standing  before  him. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  curious  "coming  back" 
feeling,  which,  however,  dissipated  in  a  moment.  He 
said  no  word,  but,  grasping  Paul's  hand  for  an  instant, 
he  turned  and  left  him.  He  carried  with  him  a  con- 
sciousness of  power. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  up-stairs  shutters  of  Walter  Hemmingway's 
house  were  closed  to  keep  out  the  slanting  rays  of  the 
afternoon  sun.  In  the  front  chamber  from  whose  win-- 
(lows  his  wife  could  look  down  the  street — the  hours 
and  hours  of  watching  and  waiting — Emma  lay,  white 
and  weak. 

In  the  next  room  sat  a  motherly  nurse  with  a  pillow 
on  her  lap.  Sarah  Hartwell  was  bending  over  it,  an 
expression  of  awe  in  her  face,  tempered  with  a  pitying 
sweetness  as  she  held  her  hands  to  her  bosom  to  keep 
back  the  falling  lace  of  her  dress. 

"  It  is  too  fragile  to  touch,"  she  said  in  the  nurse's 
ear. 

Her  companion  nodded.  "  What  c'n  ye  expect  ? "  she 
said  under  her  breath.  "  Hasn't  the  poor  thing  been 
worrited  to  death  all  these  months  ?  A  nice  father  he 
is!  Hasn't  been  home  sence  yesterday  mornin'  and 
couldn't  be  found  when  he  was  sent  for." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Sarah. 

"  Sh !  Jest  push  that  door  to,  won't  ye  ?  I  hadn't 
ought  to  be  tellin'  this,  but  you  are  a  good  friend  o' 
hers  and  't  won't  go  no  further.  The  poor  thing  was 
took  early  yesterday  afternoon  when  she  was  alone  in 
the  house  but  fer  her  help,  Mary  Ann,  who  run  fer  me. 
I  saw  how  things  was  goin'  and  sent  fer  the  doctor,  but 

75 


didn't  send  fer  'er  husband,  thinkin'  he'd  be  home  to 
dinner,  which  was  time  enough.  But  he  never  come, 
and  when  we  sent  fer  him  in  the  evenin'  he  couldn't  be 
found,  an'  'tain't  the  first  time  it's  happened  neither, 
I'll  be  bound." 

She  stopped  abruptly,  nodding  her  head  violently, 
with  her  lips  shut  tightly  together,  as  if  there  were  much 
more  she  could  tell  were  she  disposed. 

"  There  now !  There  now !  "  she  crooned  with  a 
cradle-like  motion  of  her  knees  as  the  infant  set  up  a 
feeble  wail. 

"Do  you  think  it  will  live,  Mrs.  Cranch?"  asked 
Sarah. 

"  The  Lord  knows !  "  replied  the  nurse.  "  You  never 
can  tell.  I've  seen  worse  'n  this  come  up  strong  an' 
hearty,  an'  then  again  it's  right  the  other  way.  Lots 
on  'em  grow  up  a  purpose  to  punish  their  parents,  I'm 
thinkiii'." 

Placing  the  infant  on  a  couch  in  a  remote  corner  of 
the. room,  she  tiptoed  carefully  to  Emma's  door  and 
looked  in. 

"  Who  is  with  you  ? "  asked  a  weak  voice. 

"  Only  Miss  Sarah.  You  must  drink  your  cup  of 
gruel  now.  What?" — bending  to  hear  something 
Emma  was  whispering.  "  No,  not  yet.  Oh,  come  now ! 
Do !  jest  a  few  swallows !  "  as  she  turned  her  face  from 
her  with  quivering  lips. 

But  Emma  lay  very  still  with  closed  eyes,  and  Mrs. 
Cranch,  after  hesitating  a  moment,  went  again  to  the 
other  room.  She  met  Sarah's  inquiring  glance  with  a 
whispered,  "  You  go  in  an'  see  her  a  minute.  It'll  com- 
fort her." 


Sarah  went  noiselessly  to  the  bedside  and  bent  over 
the  young  mother.  Emma  did  not  seem  to  notice  her, 
but  great  tears  began  to  roll  from  under  the  closed 
eyelids.  Sarah  took  the  feeble  hand  and  carried  it  ca- 
ressingly to  her  own  face,  imprinting  upon  it  a  tender 
kiss.  She  saw  the  brave  effort  Emma  made  in  spite 
of  her  weakness  to  hide  her  sorrow,  as  she  turned  her 
face  toward  her  and  tried  to  smile. 

"  Have  you  seen  my  baby  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear."  And  Sarah  lovingly  stroked  the  hand 
she  held. 

"  Is  she  like  her  father  ? " 

"  I  think  she  will  have  her  father's  brown  eyes  instead 
of  your  blue  ones,"  replied  Sarah.  "  But  Mrs.  Cranch 
will  send  me  away  if  I  allow  you  to  talk,"  she  added 
gently  as  she  saw  the  searching  expression  in  Emma's 
eyes  fixed  on  her  face.  "  Let  me  sit  by  you  quietly  for 
a  few  minutes." 

She  noticed  that  Emma  seemed  to  feel  no  alarm, 
only  sorrow,  at  her  husband's  absence  from  home,  and 
sighed  witliin  herself  at  this  confirmation  of  Mrs. 
Cranch's  opinion. 

"  How  a  woman  whose  affections  are  centred  upon 
some  man  can  suffer !  "  she  mused. 

"  Sarah  !  What  does  it  all  mean  ? "  whispered  Emma. 
"  Life  is  so  hard !  " 

"  It  means  that  we  are  learning  to  know  ourselves, 
dear.  To  know  what  is  possible  to  us  through  our 
weakness  and  through  our  strength." 

"  I  suppose  God  wills  it,"  Emma  sighed  and  remained 
quiet. 

Sarah  sat  silently  by  her,  thinking  of  the  grand 


purpose  being  wrought  out  through  human  suffering. 
Her  thoughts  mounted  to  planes  above  it,  beyond  a  God 
who  could  purposely  afflict  men,  to  where  she  could 
look  down  upon  it  and  see  its  relation  to  that  which  is 
higher. 

There  were  realms  upon  realms  of  light,  of  joy,  of 
glory,  infinite  in  comparison  with  the  petty  threescore 
and  ten  years  constituting  the  all  in  all  for  so  many, 
who,  having  eyes,  could  not  see. 

There  the  infinite  potentialities  of  finite  being,  first 
quickened  by  the  agonized  throbbiugs  of  a  mortal 
heart,  unfolded  in  all  the  beauty  and  power  of  selfless- 
ness and  service. 

There  the  agony  became  aspiration,  the  woe,  wor- 
ship, the  weakness,  strength,  the  suffering,  a  saving 
power. 

There  the  divine  alchemy  transmuted  the  mortal 
into  the  immortal,  the  human  into  the  divine. 

There  ?  Here.  Here,  in  the  world,  traveling  in  the 
road  of  self-knowledge,  "  the  King's  Highway,"  travel- 
ing through  on  our  o\mi  feet,  turning  aside  neither  to 
the.  right  nor  the  left. 

Here,  where  the  only  way  out  of  suffering  was  the 
way  up. 

Here,  where  the  way  up  was  revealed  to  us  through 
the  recognition  of  our  own  godlike  powers. 

Here,  where  the  hammer-strokes  of  misfortune  fell 
thick  and  fast  till  we  woke  through  pain  from  the  sleep 
of  sense-consciousness. 

Here,  where,  our  appeals  to  a  far-off  Deity  failing  to 
bring  relief,  we  woke  to  the  divinity  entombed  in  hu- 
manity. 


79 


Here,  where  the  crucifixion  of  the  mortal  brings  the 
resurrection  of  the  immortal. 

Here,  where  he  who  has  put  all  things  under  his  feet 
knows  that  he  lives  forever. 

Here,  where  the  thorns  of  mortal  loves  and  longings 
— ah !  God !  the  smart  of  them ! — became  the  victorious 
crown  of  waiting  divinity. 

When  she  came  down  from  this  mount  of  transfig- 
uration her  face  shone. 

She  turned  toward  the  bed.  Emma  was  sleeping 
quietly.  The  look  of  suffering  had  disappeared  from 
her  face.  It  was  as  placid  as  a  child's.  She  passed  to 
the  other  room.  The  baby  was  sleeping  also,  and  Mrs. 
Cranch's  head  had  fallen  forward  on  her  breast  as  she 
sat  in  a  capacious  rocking-chair.  Sarah  heard  the  rattle 
of  a  key  in  the  door  below.  Moving  swiftly  and 
silently  forward  she  closed  the  door  of  the  room  and 
began  to  descend  the  stairs. 

As  Walter  Hemmingway  shut  the  front  door  behind 
him  and  turned  toward  the  staircase,  he  stopped  sud- 
denly, his  foot  upon  the  bottom  step.  Was  it  a  vision  ? 

Above  him  stood  a  woman's  form  clothed  in  floating 
white,  one  hand  raised  warningly,  the  other  resting 
lightly  on  the  balustrade,  a  golden  halo  playing  round 
her  head  and  shining  through  her  wavy  hair.  And 
what  a  peculiar  light  in  her  face ! 

He  waited  as  she  descended  toward  him,  passing 
below  the  ray  of  light  from  a  window  above  the  stair- 
case. 

"Oh!  it's  you,  is  it?"  he  said.  "Glad  to  see  yon, 
Miss  Sarah.  How's  Emma  ?  By  Jove !  it  was  un- 
fortunate that  I  had  to  go  out  of  town  suddenly  last 


80 


night.  A  new  client  with  large  interests  involved — " 
he  went  on  rapidly  without  giving  her  an  opportunity 
to  speak.  "  A  man  in  my  profession  never  knows  —  " 

He  stopped  suddenly  as  he  looked  in  her  eyes.  His 
own  fell.  He  saw  the  uselessness  of  subterfuge.  Her 
glance  pierced  him  through. 

"  Your  wife  is  very  weak.  She  is  sleeping  quietly 
now.  Mrs.  Cranch  and  the  baby  are  in  the  blue  room. 
You  had  better  go  up  as  noiselessly  as  possible." 

Her  tone  was  low,  her  words  few,  but  there  was 
something  about  her  which  seemed  to  scorch  and 
wither  him.  She  stood  aside,  and  he  passed  her  with- 
out once  raising  liis  eyes. 

She  went  on  to  the  kitchen  to  confer  with  Mary 
Ann  and  assure  her  of  help  in  the  management  of  the 
household  while  Emma  was  incapacitated.  Before  long 
she  heard  Mrs.  Cranch — whose  tread  the  good  woman 
tried  in  vain  to  make  light — running  rapidly  down  the 
stairs. 

"  Oh!  Miss  Sarah  [  Miss  Sarah !  "  she  said  breathlessly 
as  she  reached  the  kitchen  door.  "  The  baby's  dead ! " 

Crash  went  a  pitcher  Mary  Ann  was  filling  with  ice- 
water  as  she  sent  up  a  wail  and  dropped  into  the  near- 
est chair. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Sarah  sternly. 

"  Dear !  dear !  the  poor  thing !  "  went  on  the  nurse. 
"  It  hadn't  life  enough  to  breathe  long.  I'm  afeard  for 
Mrs.  Hemmingway.  She's  that  clingin',  poor  child,  that 
I  don't  know — "  and  she  shook  her  head  mournfully 

"  Have  you  told  them  ? "  asked  Sarah. 

"  No,  I  didn't  dare.  He  kem  up  an'  jest  glanced  at 
the  child  over  his  shoulder  like  and  went  into  her 


81 


room.  When  I  went  to  see  to  it,  it  was  gone — God 
rest  its  soul." 

Sarah  left  the  room  and  Mrs.  Cranch  followed  her 
up-stairs.  She  bent  over  the  little  stranger,  not  with 
sadness,  but  as  one  who  knows.  The  tiny  lamp  had 
been  lighted  but  for  a  moment  and  had  burned  itself 
out.  Sympathy  was  for  those  who  needed  it,  not  for 
the  child. 

She  heard  their  voices  in  the  next  room — Walter's 
coaxing,  explanatory,  Emma's  pleading  and  tearful.  She 
was  so  weak  now  she  could  not  help  crying. 

"He'll  make  her  worse,"  whispered  the  nurse  ex- 
citedly. 

"  Go  in  with  this  milk  for  Mrs.  Hemmingway,"  said 
Sarah.  And  as  Emma's  husband  turned  from  the  bed- 
side to  make  room  for  Mrs.  Cranch,  she  beckoned  to  him 
from  the  door.  He  came  at  once,  but  avoided  her  eye. 

"The  child  is  dead,"  she  said  briefly.  "You  must 
help  your  wife  to  bear  it." 

He  went  to  the  couch  where  the  child  lay.  "  Poor 
little  mite,"  he  said  as  he  bent  over  it.  "  Why  should 
it  have  been  so  feeble,  I  wonder?  It's  too  bad,  but 
Emma  would  have  found  it  a  great  care  if  it  had  li ved. 
She'll  take  its  death  very  much  to  heart  though,  I  sup- 
pose. Hadn't  you  better  tell  her?"  and  he  looked  at 
Sarah  for  an  instant,  only  to  look  away  again  and 
bend  over  the  child  as  a  refuge  from  what  he  saw  in 
her  face. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  came  Emma's  feeble  voice 
from  the  next  room. 

"  Jest  drink  the  rest  o'  this  an'  I'll  go  an'  see,"  replied 
the  nurse. 


82 


Sarah  hesitated.  She  knew — was  she  not  a  woman  ? 
— that  Emma  would  crave  her  husband's  presence  and 
sympathy,  would  turn  to  him  as  her  all  in  all  more 
than  ever  now.  And  from  whose  lips  could  the  an- 
nouncement come  with  less  power  to  crush  an  already 
suffering  heart  than  his  ? 

"  Come  with  me  and  I  will  tell  her,"  she  said,  moving 
toward  the  door. 

He  started  to  follow  her,  stopped,  turned  back,  went 
noiselessly  out  of  the  room  and  down  the  stairs. 

"  I  cannot  bear  to  see  suffering,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  I'll  come  back  when  she  has  gotten  over  the  shock 
of  it." 

As  Sarah  approached  Emma's  bedside  and  saw  the 
mingled  alarm  and  expectation  in  her  eyes,  knowing 
without  looking  back  that  Walter  Hemmingway  was 
not  with  her,  she  opened  within  her  own  soul  that  door 
which  leads  to  the  infinite — to  that  great  reservoir  of 
life,  of  strength,  of  power,  of  love,  which  can  never  be 
exhausted  but  is  always  sufficient  for  our  mortal  needs ; 
opened  it  that  the  healing  and  saving  stream  might  flow 
through  her  to  the  suffering  one  who  knew  it  not  and 
yet  needed  it  so  sorely. 

The  world  of  love  for  one,  to  the  exclusion  of  the 
many,  which  seems  to  us  so  vast  and  entrancing, 
proves  its  limitations  when  we  wound  ourselves  by 
striking  unawares  against  the  hedge  of  thorns  that 
bounds  it.  The  fair  gardens  and  flowering  plains,  the 
verdure-clad  mountains  which  lift  themselves  to  where 
the  "  I  Am  that  I  Am  "  reigns  supreme,  are  the  unknown 
and  the  undesired  for  us  as  we  endeavor  to  bind  our 
wounds  and  turn  back  to  new  experiences. 


83 


Only  when  the  thorns  remain  to  rankle  in  the  flesh, 
only  when  they  are  plucked  out  by  the  strong  hand  of 
their  master,  do  we  live  in  the  two  worlds,  loving  with 
the  love  which  is  God,  mediators  for  the  Most  High. 

The  sun  had  set  and  a  gathering  twilight  filled  the 
room  as,  taking  Emma's  hands  in  hers,  she  said  gently, 
"  The  little  bud  has  gone  to  blossom  where  it  is  always 
sunshine,  Emma  dear.  Help  it  with  your  love." 

Emma  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  as  if  she  did  not 
comprehend  her.  She  saw  Mrs.  Cranch  wipe  her  eyes 
furtively  with  her  apron.  "My  baby  is  dead?"  she 
said  inquiringly,  catching  her  breath. 

"  Yes,  Emma,"  said  Sarah. 

"  Walter!" 

The  agonized  cry  rang  through  the  chamber  and 
then  all  was  still. 

"  She's  fainted,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Cranch,  running  for 
water.  "  Here,  put  this  on  her  face  and  slap  her  hands 
while  I  go  and  send  her  husband  for  the  doctor.  He'll 
pay  for  this  sometime  or  other  or  I'm  mistaken,"  she 
muttered  as  she  hurried  down-stairs. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AFTER  days  of  battle  with  himself,  days  whose  hours 
seemed  marked  one  by  one  with  his  very  life-blood  ooz- 
ing from  open  wounds,  Everett  Long's  sense  of  duty 
and  justice  won  the  day.  He  was  compelled  by  its 
very  strength,  which  wrestled  with  him  and  would  not 
let  him  go,  to  acknowledge  it  ruler  over  worldly  policy 
and  expediency,  to  feel  that  he  could  better  face  an 
adverse  public  opinion  than  his  own  self-condemna- 
tion. 

His  pulse  beat  rapidly  as  he  sat  in  the  parlor  of  her 
father's  residence  awaiting  Miriam  Hartwell.  Had  a 
harder  task  ever  been  allotted  to  a  man  than  this  he 
was  about  to  perform  ?  Tell  the  woman  he  wished  to 
make  his  wife  that  he  had  an  illegitimate  son  whom  he 
was  about  to  acknowledge  and  care  for  in  all  respects 
as  if  he  had  been  born  in  lawful  wedlock,  making  only 
such  explanations  to  the  world  as  the  simple  truth 
afforded — nothing  more  ? 

The  impulse  to  go  while  there  was  yet  time  and  write 
his  explanation  rose  up  within  him ;  but  again  came 
the  thought,  "  I  am  able  to  do  my  best,  not  my  least," 
and  he  turned  to  that  inner  support  which  Paul  had 
taught  him  to  seek  and  find.  He  turned  to  that  under- 
lying potential  nature  in  which  is  the  seed  of  all  power, 
of  all  achievement,  waiting  to  be  fructified  through  the 

84 


85 


spoken  word.  "  Dominion  is  mine.  It  is  not  in  the 
condition  or  circumstance,"  he  said  to  himself. 

He  heard  a  step  upon  the  stairs  and  Miss  Hartwell 
entered  the  room.  His  heart  gave  a  mighty  bound  and 
then  seemed  to  stand  still.  But  no  trace  of  this  np- 
peared  in  his  face  as  he  stood  awaiting  her. 

She  came  toward  him  with  a  new  graciousness  tem- 
pering her  usually  reserved  manner  and  extended  her 
hand.  He  took  it  in  both  his  own,  holding  it  for  an 
instant  before  he  relinquished  it,  and  said  gently,  "I 
did  not  mean  to  come  until  the  expiration  of  the  fort- 
night, but  since  I  saw  you  last  I  have  learned  some 
things  which  compel  a  certain  course  of  action  on  my 
part,  and  which  you  should  know  also,  that  you  may 
judge  to  what  extent  your  promised  decision  shall  be 
influenced  by  them." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  surprised  expression, 
seemed  about  to  speak,  checked  herself,  and  sat  down 
facing  him  without  a  word.  Standing  before  her  with 
a  manner  so  composed  she  little  knew  the  effort  it  cost 
him,  he  told  her  all,  offering  no  excuse  for  himself, 
shading  none  of  the  facts.  As  he  ceased  speaking  and 
awaited  her  reply  with  a  quiet  dignity  which  com- 
manded respect,  a  deep  regret,  even  shame,  for  the 
deeds  he  felt  himself  obliged  to  make  known  to  her 
was  plainly  apparent. 

While  he  spoke  varying  expressions  passed  over 
Miriam's  face,  which  finally  assumed  the  judicial  aspect 
of  a  judge  on  the  bench. 

"It  seems  to  me,r  she  said,  "you  have  reached  your 
most  extraordinary  conclusion  as  to  your  course  of 
action  on  very  insufficient  evidence.  How  do  you 


86 


know  this  boy  is  your  son  ?  You  seem  to  have  accepted 
Paul  Masters'  statement  without  a  question." 

"  I  have  indeed,"  replied  Everett  gravely.  "  I  know 
him  so  well  that  it  had  not  occurred  to  me  to  question  its 
truth.  I  am  quite  sure  he  will  be  able  to  give  me  a 
satisfactory  explanation." 

"  You  have  great  confidence  in  him/'  she  said  coldly. 

"  And  not  without  reason,"  he  assented  eagerly,  rais- 
ing his  head,  which  had  been  bowed  before  her ;  and 
the  color  flashed  to  his  face  as  his  eye  brightened.  "  He 
has  been  everything  to  me — counselor,  comforter,  ex- 
ample, brother,  friend  tried  and  proven." 

A  shadow  passed  across  her  face.  "With  such  a 
friend  one  need  hardly  feel  the  lack  of  other  compan- 
ionship," she  said. 

There  was  a  tinge  of  irony  in  her  tone  which  escaped 
him,  but  which  a  jealous  woman  would  have  under- 
stood. 

11  Miss  Hartwell — Miriam,"  he  burst  out  impulsively, 
taking  a  step  forward.  "  I  long  with  all  my  being  for 
the  companionship,  the  love  of  a  woman.  I  have  but 
one  aim,  to  live  my  life  henceforth  nobly,  reverently, 
unselfishly,  placing  my  duty  before  my  desire,  making 
the  most  of  every  faculty  and  power  I  possess,  achiev- 
ing all  it  is  possible  to  achieve  in  this  world  with  right 
intention  and  honest  endeavor.  The  woman  who  could 
hold  this  aim  with  me,  who  could  overlook  that  past 
which  I  deeply  regret — how  deeply  none  but  myself 
can  know — who  could  stand  beside  me  as  a  comrade 
and  yet  above  me  as  that  more  than  myself,  continually 
drawing  me  higher,  should  have  the  love  of  my  heart, 


87 


the  service  of  my  life,  the  adoration  of  my  soul.  Can 
you — will  you —  " 

He  hesitated,  and  stopped  with  his  hand  stretched 
toward  her. 

"  For  such  a  woman  would  you  give  up  your  purpose 
to  publicly  acknowledge  this  child  your  son?"  she 
asked,  looking  at  him  intently  and  enunciating  each 
word  with  a  particular  distinctness. 

His  arm  fell.  His  face  showed  an  inward  struggle. 
He  turned  from  her  and  walked  to  the  other  side  of 
the  room.  What  could  he  not  do  for  the  woman  he 
loved,  for  the  woman  who  loved  him, — that  was  right  ? 
A  conflict  raged  in  him  which  he  had  thought  fought 
and  won.  Perhaps  he  had  everything  to  gain  by  re- 
linquishing his  purpose,  perhaps  everything  to  lose  by 
holding  to  it.  Why  should  he  take  this  extreme  posi- 
tion, when  men  all  about  him,  good  men  too,  failed  to 
see  its  necessity  ?  Why  should  the  error  of  an  undis- 
ciplined youth  fall  so  severely  upon  the  head  of  the 
man  struggling  upward?  Was  his  load  not  heavy 
enough,  the  accompanying  compensation  little  enough  ? 
Must  his  life  be  one  prolonged  strife  without  rest  ? 

What?  Breaking  through  the  noise  of  the  battle 
came  that  far-off  voice  he  had  heard  before  in  time  of 
need.  Was  it  Paul's  voice? 

"  Live  to  your  best,  not  your  least.    You  are  able." 

He  felt  a  new  vitality  coursing  through  him.  He 
was  able. 

He  came  back  to  her — she  had  not  taken  her  eyes 
from  him — and  his  voice,  though  firm,  was  as  gentle  as 
a  woman's  as  he  said,  "  It  would  be  very  hard  to  refuse 


anything  to  the  woman  I  loved ;  but  should  she  ask 
that  which  was  incompatible  with  my  sense  of  right 
and  conviction  of  duty  I  should  be  obliged  to  refuse 
her  request,  suffering  with  her  in  the  refusal." 

With  a  gesture  of  impatience  Miriam  sat  erect. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Everett  Long,"  she  said  impetuously, 
and  there  was  a  dangerous  sparkle  in  her  eyes,  a  rigid- 
ity about  her  mouth.  "  You  are  in  danger  of  becoming 
fanatical  through  excess  of  sentiment.  Let  us  review 
this  whole  matter  impartially.  I  am,  at  all  events,  your 
friend,  and  must  point  out  the  danger  which  threatens 
you. 

"  So  far  as  your  past  life  is  concerned,  it  is  neither 
better  nor  worse  than  that  of  most  men.  Were  I  like 
most  women  I  should  grieve  over  it  with  you,  were  I 
not  too  greatly  shocked  to  mingle  my  tears  with  yours. 
But  I  am  too  unsentimental — for  which  I  am  devoutly 
thankful — to  be  ignorant,  or  to  pretend  to  be  ignorant, 
of  the  way  men  live,  of  the  way  they  are  tacitly  allowed 
to  live.  Wliile  I  regret  the  latitude  allowed  them  and 
their  use  of  it,  I  am  accustomed  to  deal  with  facts  as 
they  are  rather  than  as  they  should  be. 

"  Your  present  and  future,  then,  are  what  are  to  be 
considered,  and  the  present  specially  in  its  bearing 
upon  the  future.  You  are  a  rising  man.  You  have 
great  ability.  You  have  most  of  the  requirements  for 
a  leader  and  are  gaining  the  rest.  Such  men  are  not 
so  plentiful  as  to  deprive  you  of  necessary  opportunity. 
I  believe  you  capable  of  reaching  a  high  position  in  the 
world.  You  need  only  the  stimulus  of  ambition,  for 
you  have  plenty  of  determination.  The  fact  that  you 
are  the  father  of  an  illegitimate  child  will  not  injure 


you  so  long  as  it  is  known  only  by  the  few  and  appears 
to  be  but  a  rumor. 

"  But  acknowledge  it  as  true,  proclaim  the  fact  by 
putting  the  child  in  the  position  of  your  acknowledged 
son,  and  you  ruin  every  prospect  you  now  have.  And 
what  will  the  boy  gain  ?  Without  this  acknowledg- 
ment he  can  have  all  needed  care,  be  educated  and 
trained  for  whatever  future  he  seems  best  fitted  to  fill. 
He  need  have  no  real  lack  unsupplied.  Is  it  worth 
while  to  jeopardize  your  own  future,  all  that  makes 
life  worth  the  living,  for  the  sake  of  a  mere  sentiment 
which  is  productive  of  no  real  or  lasting  good  ? 

"Put  the  past  behind  you  and  do  not  insist  upon 
making  its  dead  corpse  the  drag  upon  your  living 
present.  Success  is  all  a  man  needs  to  compel  that 
recognition,  that  homage,  which  the  world  is  slow  to 
accord  until  it  is  compelled.  Put  everything  from  you 
that  interferes  with  it.  Bend  every  energy  to  the 
making  of  a  name  which  shall  live  after  you." 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet  as  she  proceeded,  and  stood 
before  him  drawn  to  her  full  height,  her  eyes  glowing, 
her  breast  heaving,  her  form  and  attitude  regal,  in- 
domitable. She  seemed  a  goddess  newly  descended 
from  Olympus,  or  a  woman  warrior  capable  of  lead- 
ing vast  armies  through  storm  and  strife  to  victory ; 
a  fitting  representative  of  her  own  ideal  of  the  coming 
woman. 

His  eye  kindled  as  he  looked  upon  her.  She  stirred 
his  blood.  He  felt  a  desire  to  do  all  and  to  dare  all  if 
but  her  eyes  might  rest  upon  him  while  he  labored, 
her  arms  sometimes  enfold  him,  her  heart  but  keep 
alive  the  fire  in  his  own.  Her  first  words  had  de- 


90 


pressed  and  chilled  him,  but  her  last  had  roused  some- 
thing he  had  not  felt  before. 

He  was  about  to  stretch  his  arms  toward  her  when 
again  the  inner  voice,  breaking  through  some  obstruc- 
tion, repeated  its  note  of  warning.  "Live  to  your 
best ! "  The  impulse  died  out  as  he  seemed  to  hear 
again  the  pulsating  rhythm,  becoming  one  with  it  as 
on  that  day  in  the  park  when  he  sat  by  Paul's  side. 

He  was  out  of  the  room,  out  of  the  world  yet  in  it ; 
out  of  all  limitation  and  one  with  the  great  pulse  of  all 
worlds,  which  rose  and  fell  and  rose  and  fell  with  a 
music  and  a  majesty  indescribable.  He  was  more  than 
it,  he  was  less  than  it,  he  was  it.  Suddenly  a  minor 
tone,  faint  at  first,  swelling  louder  and  louder,  moaned 
and  sobbed  in  his  ears — a  wail  of  passion,  of  sorrow,  of 
despair. 

There  she  was  before  him !  Where  had  he  been  ? 
She  showed  no  surprise,  as  if  waiting  in  vain  for  an 
answer.  Instead,  the  last  word  seemed  to  have  just 
left  her  lips.  He  was  growing  more  accustomed  to 
these  sudden  experiences — an  hour  compressed  into  a 
brief  instant  of  time.  But  the  desire  to  follow  her  to 
victory,  to  death  if  need  be,  had  gone.  He  saw  the 
worldly  wisdom  in  her  words,  felt  the  danger  of  its 
allurement,  which  led  him  away  from  the  path  he  must 
follow  if  he  should  live  to  his  best. 

"  I  feel  the  force  of  what  you  say,"  he  replied,  and 
his  tone  was  as  before.  "  I  know  that  expediency  in- 
stead of  right  rules  in  the  world,  that  we  allow  it  to 
masquerade  in  the  other's  garments  and  convince  our- 
selves of  its  rectitude.  Perhaps  I  am  without  ambition, 
as  once  I  seemed  to  be  without  a  conscience,  I  do  not 


91 


know.  But  I  feel  that  I  cannot  turn  from  that  which 
is  nobler  to  that  which  is  least,  for  the  sake  of  what  is 
called  success. 

"Make  a  name  that  shall  live  after  met"  and  his 
fine  eyes,  bent  on  hers,  held  something  which  caught 
her  with  a  sudden  wonder.  "  I  live,  and  perhaps  shall 
live  when  names  are  forgotten  and  gone.  Listen  to 
me,"  he  said  appealingly,  with  a  sudden  change  of 
manner.  "  For  years  I  lived  for  the  day,  caring  naught 
for  yesterday  or  to-morrow.  I  lived  for  enjoyment 
only.  I  do  not  think  I  was  intentionally  regardless  of 
the  claims  of  my  fellow-men,  of  a  higher  ideal  than  the 
gratification  of  the  senses.  I  was  thoughtless,  careless, 
had  no  family  ties,  did  as  I  saw  other  men  do. 

"  But  the  time  came  when  I  began  to  question  my 
mode  of  life,  question  myself ;  when  a  vague  dissatis- 
faction haunted  me.  Then  was  the  time  when  Paul 
Masters  proved  his  worth  as  a  man,  his  value  to  me  as 
a  friend.  He  showed  me  myself  as  I  was  and  as  I 
might  be.  He  taught  me  the  necessity  of  cleansing  the 
within  as  well  as  the  without.  He  showed  me  that  all 
act  was  the  expression  of  thought,  and  that  I  must  be 
pure  in  thought  if  I  would  be  pure  in  life ;  that  we  are 
members  of  one  body,  and  that  no  one  can  truly  rise 
without  helping  others  to  rise  also.  He  gave  me  no 
doctrinal  religion,  but  he  gave  me  a  God-like  ideal  and 
taught  me  how  to  reach  it.  He  never  told  me  I  must 
believe,  but, '  You  must  see  and  do.' 

"  For  the  last  two  years  I  have  tried,  with  many  a 
failure,  to  do  according  to  what  I  see.  This  course  I 
must  continue.  I  cannot — I  dare  not — turn  aside  from 
it.  And  yet  I  am  weak  when  I  should  be  strong.  My 


92 


heart  cries  out  for  love.  Help  me  to  reach  my  ideal !  " 
and  again  he  stretched  his  arms  toward  her  implor- 
ingly- 

She  leaned  toward  him  for  an  instant  as  if  drawn  in 
spite  of  herself.  Her  face  softened,  her  mouth  trem- 
bled, her  eyes  were  dewy.  She  was  not  the  warrior, 
she  was  the  woman.  But  even  as  she  swayed  as  if 
about  to  fall  into  his  arms,  she  caught  herself,  her  face 
assumed  its  expression  of  a  set  purpose,  the  tenderness 
vanished  from  her  eyes. 

She  seemed  conscious  of  having  experienced  a  mo- 
ment of  temptation  and  weakness,  and  to  feel  resent- 
ment at  the  possibility.  Her  voice  and  aspect  were  as 
judicial  as  before  when  she  said : 

"  Of  course  you  must  form  your  own  decision  in  this 
matter  and  act  accordingly.  Freedom  of  choice  and 
action  is  essential.  The  well-meant  advice  of  friends 
should  not  be  allowed  to  check  it.  I  shall  think  you 
mistaken  if  you  carry  out  your  present  intention,  and 
that  the  time  will  come  when  you  will  see  reason  to  be 
a  far  safer  guide  than  sentiment.  You  will  find  that 
you  have  unnecessarily  made  yourself  a  target  for  ridi- 
cule and  reproach.  Men  whose  lives  have  been  no  bet- 
ter than  your  own  will  laugh  at  you,  those  who  have 
been  more  moral  will  condemn  you,  women,  if  they  do 
not  openly  denounce,  will  avoid  you. 

"  You  will  ruin  your  future  utterly ;  the  high  position 
you  might  reach,  you  are  able  to  reach,  will  be  closed 
to  you.  The  position  of  your  wife  would  be  one  insup- 
portable to  me.  I  am  ambitious.  I  admit  it,  I  glory 
in  it,"  and  she  raised  herself  proudly.  "I  never  could 
be  content  with  the  narrow  confines  of  'woman's 


93 


sphere '  or  '  sacrifice  all  for  love.'  My  nature  demands 
a  name  and  a  place  in  the  world.  Women  have  been 
too  long  content  with  mediocrity  in  themselves  and  an 
inferior  position  as  compared  to  men. 

''  I  mean  to  demonstrate  their  higher  possibilities  in 
my  own  person ;  to  stimulate  them  to  such  endeavor  as 
shall  place  them  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  men,  carv- 
ing their  way  to  competence  and  reputation.  Why 
should  they  not  have  both  ?  Not  as  a  reflected  glory 
from  the  men  with  whom  they  are  connected,  but  as 
their  own  achievement  ?  I,  too,  have  my  conviction  of 
duty,  and  my  inclination  goes  with  it.  I  mean  to  help 
forward  that  progress  which  has  seemed  so  long  in 
coming,  to  march  in  the  van  of  the  new  era  which  rec- 
ognizes and  gives  to  woman  her  due  in  the  industrial, 
the  financial,  the  political,  the  intellectual  world.  I 
hope  to  li ve  to  raise  the  song  of  triumph  for  woman 
come  to  her  own  at  last,  even  through  the  Red  Sea  of 
insurmountable  difficulties ;  for  I  know,  I  feel  in  my 
soul,  that  every  opposer  of  woman's  progress  shall 
finally  be  overthrown." 

Again  she  seemed  the  warrior  leader  as  she  paused 
for  an  instant,  intoxicated  with  the  glory  she  saw 
awaiting  her,  the  very  incarnation  of  that  victorious 
womanhood  which  had  battled  successfully  for  its 
rights.  The  crown  of  triumph  was  already  on  her 
brow,  the  peace-offerings  of  a  conquered  foe  at  her 
feet. 

He  looked  at  her  silently  with  a  heavy  heart.  He 
foresaw  the  refusal  she  was  preparing  for  him.  How 
grand  she  was !  How  she  stirred  him  to  desire  a  part 
in  the  same  battle,  a  share  in  the  same  victory !  Help 


94 


the  world  forward  ?  Surely  there  was  no  nobler  work 
And  yet — and  yet — there  was  something  lacking. 

"  I  have  neither  time  nor  inclination  for  that  weak- 
ness which  many  women  call  love,"  she  went  on.  "  It 
belongs  with  their  religion,  both  the  consequence  of 
generations  of  intellectual  bondage,  and  both  her  foes 
under  the  guise  of  friends.  For  whatever  stands  in 
the  path  of  woman's  advancement  is  her  foe.  Women 
suffer  for  this  love  of  theirs  which  robs  them  of  their 
strength,  and  their  intellectual  darkness  makes  them 
lie  content  in  the  dust  while  men  march  triumphantly 
over  them. 

"  When  you  proposed  marriage  to  me  I  told  you  that 
I  did  not  wish  to  marry,  and  you  know  why.  I  have 
marked  out  a  career  which  I  intend  to  follow  to  the 
end.  You  begged  me  to  take  time  for  consideration 
and  I  consented,  for — I  tell  you  frankly — you  have 
awakened  more  response  in  me  than  any  man  I  ever 
met.  I  set  myself  to  consider  carefully  the  effect  our 
marriage  would  have  on  my  future.  I  saw  your  abil- 
ity, the  growing  recognition  you  are  receiving,  and  the 
possibilities  of  your  future,  especially  if  you  had  a  wife 
who,  so  far  from  being  a  check  on  your  efforts,  would 
further  them  and  stimulate  your  ambition.  I  saw  that 
such  a  woman  as  I  am  and  such  a  man  as  I  believe 
you  to  be  could,  if  united,  accomplish  more  than  either 
singly;  and  I  had  nearly  determined  to  give  you  a 
favorable  answer.  But  now —  " 

She  hesitated. 

"And  now?"  he  said  gently  and  sadly. 

She  waited  a  moment.     He  did  not  speak. 

"  Now  I  am  obliged  to  refuse  you,"  she  said  firmly, 


95 


looking  him  directly  in  the  face.  "  Your  determination 
makes  it  impossible  for  me  to  become  your  wife." 

He  accepted  her  decision  silently.  Only  he  con- 
tinued to  look  at  her  with  a  yearning  expression  in  his 
face,  as  if  something  he  longed  for  was  fading  from 
sight. 

She  turned  from  him  abruptly,  walked  a  few  steps, 
came  back,  and  extended  her  hand. 

"  While  I  cannot  agree  with  your  view  or  approve  of 
your  course,  I  have  much  esteem  for  you.  We  remain 
friends  ? " 

"  We  remain  friends,"  he  replied  as  he  took  her  hand, 
bent  down,  and  left  a  lingering  kiss  upon  it.  Then 
without  looking  back  he  left  the  room. 

As  he  approached  the  front  door  it  was  opened  from 
without  and  Sarah  Hartwell  entered. 

"Oh!  Good-morning,  Mr.  Long !  I  hope  the  door  did 
not  strike  you.  No  ?  You  are  sure  ? "  as  she  stood 
with  her  hand  still  on  the  knob. 

Assuring  her  as  he  returned  her  salutation  that  he 
was  untouched,  he  passed  out,  when  her  quick  eye 
caught  the  expression  of  his  face. 

"  You  are  in  trouble,"  she  said  very  gently.  "  I  am 
sorry." 

He  did  not  reply.  He  could  not.  Raising  his  hat  he 
went  quickly  down  the  steps. 

She  stood  thoughtful  for  a  moment.  Glancing 
through  the  half-open  door  she  saw  her  sister. 

She  understood. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  Hemmingway  cottage  had  a  new  occupant,  a 
beautiful  widow.  Much  stir  and  comment  had  been 
aroused  when  she  first  made  her  appearance  in  Benton. 
No  one  seemed  to  know  her,  and  speculation  was  rife. 

So  far  as  her  beauty  was  concerned  there  was  no  room 
for  speculation.  The  male  population  assented  to  a  man 
that  she  was  by  all  odds  the  handsomest  woman  one 
would  see  in  a  day's  journey,  a  verdict  not  altogether 
agreeable  to  their  sisters  and  wives.  They  called  upon 
her,  however,  when  after  a  few  weeks'  stay  she  pre- 
sented letters  of  introduction  to  some  of  the  prominent 
people  of  Benton.  Then  it  was  known  that  she  came 
from  New  York,  was  rich,  had  been  a  widow  over  a 
year,  and  was  ordered  by  her  physician  to  live  quietly 
for  a  time  before  resuming  the  social  duties  of  her  own 
circle. 

"Young,"  said  the  men ;  "  Older  than  she  looks,"  said 
the  women ;  but  all  agreed  that  Mrs.  Jasper  Cunning- 
ham was  charming  and  her  half-mourning  toilettes 
ravishing.  She  was  received  in  their  inner  circle  and 
admired  from  the  distance  of  the  outer  one. 

Emma  had  been  seriously  ill  for  some  weeks  after 
the  death  of  her  child.  She  did  not  seem  able  to  rally 
and  her  husband  had  proposed  a  change  of  air  and 
scene.  Combined  with  his  anxiety  for  her — for  he 

96 


97 


loved  her,  as  he  assured  her  frequently — Was  an  uneasi- 
ness and  perplexity  which  she  did  not  understand,  but 
which  she  was  too  weak  to  do  more  than  wonder  over 
at  intervals. 

She  had  remonstrated  at  first,  feeling  he  could  not 
afl'ord  to  leave  his  professional  interests  in  other  hands, 
for  he  proposed  going  with  her.  When  he  had  found  it 
so  impossible  to  give  her  much  of  his  time  while  at  home, 
she  felt  sure  they  must  suffer  from  his  absence;  and  of 
late  he  had  seemed  to  feel  the  expense  of  their  modest 
household  a  tax  upon  his  resources.  But  he  overruled 
her  objections  and  persuaded  her  that  it  was  best  not 
to  keep  up  their  establishment  for  a  time,  but  to  rent 
their  house — the  beautiful  little  home  left  by  her  par- 
en  ts  to  their  only  child;  for  she  had  been  an  orphan 
under  the  care  of  a  guardian  glad  to  be  rid  of  his  re- 
sponsibility when  Walter  married  her. 

Through  an  agent  a  tenant  had  been  found,  and  they 
had  gone  away,  Emma  thankful  enough  for  her  hus- 
band's companionship  to  feel  little  regret  at  leaving 
home,  he  with  an  air  of  mingled  relief  and  devotion  to 
his  wife  which  revived  the  hope  in  her  heart,  wearied 
with  the  fluctuations  between  certainty  of  his  safe  fu- 
ture and  dread  of  she  knew  not  what. 

The  man  who  had  insisted  so  strenuously  on  seeing 
her  husband  the  first  time  he  had  been  at  their  home 
had  been  there  frequently  since,  and  Walter  had  always 
seen  him  alone  on  the  plea  of  "business."  She  had 
heard  their  voices  raised  in  anything  but  business-like 
tones,  and  her  husband  was  always  moody  and  ab- 
stracted after  his  visits.  But  her  husband  must  know 
better  than  she.  How  foolish  to  worry  over  what  did 


98 


not  concern  her!  Walter  had  unusual  ability  in  his 
profession.  Every  one  conceded '  that.  "  An  excep- 
tionally capable  man,  who  will  do  well  if  he  will  only 
behave  himself/'  her  guardian  had  said.  And  of  course 
he  would  do  right.  He  could  not  do  otherwise  when 
she  was  so  devoted  to  him.  What  should  she  do  if  he  did 
not  ?  What  if  he  should  cease  to  love  her  ?  She  should 
die.  There  would  be  nothing  to  live  for — nothing. 

Sarah  had  been  her  faithful  friend  through  many 
weary  weeks.  Eveiy  time  she  came  to  her  she  brought 
comfort  and  strength.  Even  if  she  only  sat  by  her 
silently  for  a  little  while,  Emma  felt  uplifted,  borne 
above  the  haunting  perplexities  of  her  mental  visions. 
And  yet  Sarah  did  not  seem  a  strong  woman  like  her 
sister.  She  was  so  gentle  and  so  placid.  She  appeared 
to  know  nothing  of  strife,  to  live  always  in  a  world 
of  her  own  which  she  carried  with  her  as  a  protecting 
armor. 

Benton  had  experienced  a  decided  sensation,  a  more 
than  nine  days'  wonder.  Everett  Long,  a  growing 
man  in  the  public  esteem,  who  was  being  mentioned  as 
a  desirable  candidate  for  one  of  the  most  important 
offices  in  the  city,  had  taken  a  boy  out  of  the  gutter 
and  frankly  acknowledged  him  his  son ;  had  placed  him 
in  that  position  and  provided  him  with  everything  but 
a  mother,  admitting  when  questioned  that  he  had  never 
been  married. 

Was  the  man  crazy?  Of  course  every  one  knew 
that  he  had  formerly  sown  abundant  wild  oats,  but 
what  man  had  not  ?  Why  should  he  parade  the  crop 
they  had  borne  in  people's  faces  ?  "  D — d  fool !  "  said 
many  of  the  men,  "  to  ruin  his  chances  so  needlessly ! " 


99 


while  many  of  the  women  in  neighborhood  conclave 
set  their  faces  as  a  flint  against  such  flagrant  immo- 
rality. 

Others,  more  lenient,  for  they  had  marriageable 
daughters,  deeply  regretted  he  should  make  it  impossi- 
ble for  them  to  continue  to  receive  him.  Many  and 
vigorous  were  the  discussions  his  conduct  provoked, 
and,  curiously  enough,  it  was  his  present  course  rather 
than  his  past  which  received  the  most  condemnation. 

"How  shocking  to  parade  his  wickedness  so  bra- 
zenly ! "  commented  the  virtuous  Bentonians  on  their 
way  to  prayer-meeting.  And  he  had  been  held  up  to 
the  youthful  visitants  persuaded  to  seek  that  way  of 
salvation,  as  a  warning  example,  even  while  they  pro- 
claimed God's  grace  sufficient  for  the  repentant  sinner, 
whose  sins,  though  scarlet,  should  be  made  white  as 
wool. 

He  had  never  affiliated  with  any  of  the  churches, 
though  he  had  attended  services  in  all  of  them;  and 
the  efforts  made  by  some  of  the  good  people  with  that 
end  in  view  were  now  brought  to  an  abrupt  conclusion. 

Zealous  members  of  the  "  Society  for  the  Suppression 
of  Vice,"  who  had  had  an  eye  upon  him  as  a  valuable 
Accession  to  their  ranks,  closed  it,  and  opened  the  other 
one  to  see  the  heinousness  of  his  crime. 

A  committee  from  the  "Association  for  Mutual 
Helpfulness  and  Improvement,"  of  which  he  was  a 
prominent  member,  visited  and  remonstrated  with  him. 
It  would  have  been  much  wiser  to  have  quietly  helped 
the  child  and  been  silent  as  to  his  parentage.  It  was 
deplorable  to  have  such  an  odium  attached  to  one  of 
their  number. 


100 


On  all  sides  he  heard — and  felt  more  than  he  heard — 
denunciation  and  disparagement.  Sore  need  had  he  of 
Paul's  faithful  companionship  and  unwavering  confi- 
dence in  his  better  self.  No  other  human  soul  had  held 
out  to  him  an  encouraging  hand. 

Yes !  there  was  one  exception.  How  could  he  have 
momentarily  forgotten?  He  was  walking  with  bent 
head  along  a  quiet  path  by  the  river,  fighting  one  of 
his  many  battles  in  the  solitude  of  nature,  which  he 
had  learned  to  find  helpful. 

What  was  this  untamed  creature  within  himself 
which  would  not  be  led  in  leash?  which  tore  and 
rended  him  with  its  struggles  ?  The  height  he  strove 
to  reach  was  so  far  away !  The  strength  he  needed  for 
the  journey  was  consumed  in  this  never-ceasing  con. 
fiict!  He  was  faint  and  weary  and  longed  for  rest. 
When  he  seemed  to  have  made  a  little  progress,  some- 
thing was  sure  to  arise,  and  often  from  his  old  past, 
which  brought  the  strife  over  again.  He  was  lonely. 
He  would  not  have  the  old,  and  the  new  rejected  him. 
Was  he  condemned  to  struggle  and  work  with  the  love 
and  loyalty  of  but  one  faithful  soul  ? 

Some  one  stood  before  him,  barring  the  path.  He 
looked  up.  Sarah  Hartwell  was  gazing  upon  him  with 
a  look  he  had  never  seen  in  a  human  face  but  Paul's. 
How  beautiful  she  was !  Was  it  beauty  he  saw  in  her 
now  ?  He  was  startled  and  did  not  speak.  She  held  both 
hands  toward  Mm  and  they  drew  his  own  to  meet  them. 

"  What  you  have  done  is  brave  and  noble,"  she  said, 
and  the  melody  in  her  voice  blended  with  the  murmur- 
ing of  the  trees  and  the  river.  "  With  all  my  heart  I 
honor  you  for  it,"  dropped  his  hands  and  was  gone. 


101 


He  stood  motionless  where  she  had  left  him.  What 
had  happened  to  him  I  Where  the  strife,  the  noise  of 
conflict  ?  "  And  there  arose  a  great  calm."  He  felt  a 
stillness,  a  hush,  as  of  a  benediction  brooding  over  him. 

He  carried  its  influence  with  him  when  he  went  home 
to  resume  his  daily  duties.  For  his  life  now  was  a 
series  of  duties  indeed.  He  had  taken  the  boy  to  his 
own  home,  making  him  his  companion,  while  he  became 
his  child's  teacher,  thinking  it  better  to  follow  tliis 
course  for  a  time  before  sending  him  away  to  school. 
It  would  be  easier  for  the  child  and  for  those  who  might 
have  him  under  their  care  if  some  of  the  effects  of  his 
Ishmaelite  life  were  first  removed. 

But  he  found  this  daily  companionship  to  be  a  harder 
tax  upon  his  endurance  than  he  had  foreseen.  The  boy 
was  so  unlovely.  He  seemed  to  be  impelled  by  the 
mere  brute  instinct  in  its  various  forms,  which  gained 
strength  as  he  thrived  physically.  He  seemed  to  have 
no  understanding  of  the  relation  of  parent  and  child 
except  that  his  father  should  produce  the  supply  for  all 
his  desires. 

And  these  concerned  chiefly  his  appetite.  He  ate 
voraciously,  never  appearing  satisfied,  but  always  crav- 
ing something  he  had  not  yet  had.  Soap  and  water 
possessed  no  attraction,  but  were  to  be  avoided  by 
every  means  in  his  power.  He  enjoyed  the  clothing 
provided  for  him  and  would  spend  any  amount  of  time 
arraying  himself  in  one  garment  after  another ;  but  re- 
monstrated in  the  choicest  gutter-snipe  profanity  when 
compelled  to  leave  his  occupation  for  a  lesson,  which, 
with  Everett,  was  a  daily  wrestle  with  a  gigantic  igno- 
rance, an  unwillingness  to  learn  and  an  infantile  mind. 


102 


He  was  very  fond  of  jewelry.  Its  glitter  seemed  to 
have  an  irresistible  attraction  for  him  and  he  would 
seize  every  opportunity  to  possess  himself  of  the  little 
belonging  to  his  father,  regardless  of  how  he  obtained 
it,  picking  a  lock  if  necessary,  an  occupation  at  which 
he  became  an  expert.  Command  and  reprimand  were 
unheeded  by  him.  To  be  deprived  of  some  article  of 
food  he  particularly  liked  was  the  only  punishment  he 
seemed  to  feel,  for  Everett,  though  sorely  tempted, 
could  not  bring  himself  to  meet  the  brute  instinct  with 
brute  force. 

His  chief  characteristic  was  cunning,  which  grew 
apace.  He  would  devise  endless  ways  and  means  for 
carrying  out  his  own  purposes  and  avoiding  his 
father's ;  and  his  lameness,  which  was  not  excessive, 
did  not  seem  to  prevent  the  accomplishment. 

While  the  boy  seemed  to  have  no  desire  whatever  to 
learn,  he  enjoyed  music ;  and  here  Everett  found  his 
first  ray  of  hope.  But  he  soon  discovered  that  the 
boy's  feeling  was  enjoyment  only,  on  a  par  with  his 
love  of  his  dinner,  and  with  no  inclination  to  overcome 
any  obstacles  that  he  might  be  a  musician  himself ;  al- 
though there  was  no  lack  of  inclination  to  get  around 
such  as  interfered  with  his  own  gratification. 

Scarcely  a  day  passed  but  Everett  was  defeated  in 
some  project  he  had  formed  for  the  child's  good.  There 
was  nothing  in  the  boy  to  attract  him,  and  after  months 
of  endeavor  there  seemed  nothing  to  encourage  him  in 
his  eif  orts,  save  his  conviction  of  duty  and  the  habit  he 
had  cultivated  of  looking  for  the  best  in  every  one  and 
placing  it  before  the  worst. 

That  good  is  stronger  than  evil  was  to  him  a  vital 


103 


truth,  one  Paul  had  declared  to  him  again  and  again 
before  he  found  himself  able  to  acknowledge  it.  When 
his  heart  sank  at  some  unusually  abominable  act  of  the 
boy's  and  he  felt  he  could  do  no  more,  that  with  all  his 
unceasing  effort  the  result  he  obtained  was  well-nigh 
unnoticeable,  he  could  only  rest  in  that  conviction,  sure 
that  in  its  own  time  and  in  its  own  way,  rather  than  in 
those  we  try  to  compel,  it  would  triumph  over  all. 

Did  he  love  the  boy?  No  and  yes.  He  did  not, 
could  not  love  him  because  he  was  his  father.  This 
relationship  was  the  natural  effect  of  the  causes  in- 
volved, and  could  not  of  itself  call  up  in  him  a  feeling 
lln>  boy's  nature  made  impossible.  That  repelled  him 
at  every  point. 

But  there  was  growing  within  him  a  feeling,  in  which 
the  boy  had  share,  as  he  studied  and  analyzed  that 
curious  compound,  human  nature.  He  would  not  have 
called  it  love,  and  yet  it  was  a  pitying  and  protecting 
tenderness;  an  inclination  to  minimize  frailties  and 
faults  instead  of  exalt  them ;  a  willingness  to  take  upon 
himself  pain  and  suffering  if  he  might  thus  lift  them 
from  others;  a  growing  tendency  to  forget  his  own 
desires  in  the  remembrance  of  the  needs  and  necessities 
of  others;  a  growing  perception  of  that  eternal  and 
changeless  truth — that  sentiment  found  so  often  in  the 
mouth,  so  seldom  in  the  heart — the  brotherhood  of 
humanity. 

As  time  went  on  the  sting  of  condemnation  died  out. 
It  was  less  an  effort  to  meet  people  and  see  in  their 
faces  their  only  half -concealed  judgment  of  him.  Their 
opinion  of  the  boy,  unequivocally  expressed  to  each 
other,  was  incapable  of  change : 


104 


"That  child  is  bad!  Bad  all  through!  No  good 
will  ever  come  of  him." 

He  was  learning  more  continually  of  the  nature  and 
power  of  thought ;  learning  to  guard  his  own  thoughts, 
that  they  might  be  messengers  of  "peace  on  earth, 
good  will  toward  men,"  rather  than  the  agents  of  the 
lesser  human  nature  venting  itself  in  its  own  anger 
over  unsatisfied  desire.  The  sum  of  human  misery 
was  heavy  enough  without  his  adding  to  it  those  men- 
tal deposits  which  generate  and  prolong  it. 

He  had  suffered  intensely  after  his  final  interview 
with  Miriam.  Never  before  had  he  asked  a  woman  to 
be  his  wife.  Never  before  had  he  held  the  ideal  of 
marriage  his  association  with  her  had  formed  in  him. 
His  own  intellectual  development,  the  more  vigorous 
in  growth  for  its  late  cultivation,  refined  and  modified 
his  former  views.  He  sought  the  companionship  equal- 
ity alone  can  give,  while  he  also  desired — how  fervently 
only  a  hungry,  aspiring  heart  can  know — that  divine 
womanliness  which  should  shine  as  the  guiding  star  of 
his  soul,  leading  him  up  and  on  to  the  heights  now 
veiled  in  a  mysterious  but  suggestive  silence. 

With  no  intention  to  exaggerate  his  own  efforts  and 
their  results,  he  was  conscious  of  a  higher  motive  than 
had  ever  impelled  him  before  in  his  association  with 
women,  and  felt  himself  to  be  far  more  worthy  of  their 
esteem;  and  yet  he  was  to  be  denied  what  only  his 
awakened  manhood  could  appreciate.  The  nails  of 
crucifixion  were  being  driven  home. 

Paul  never  failed  him.  He  seemed  possessed  of  an 
inexhaustible  store  of  wisdom  from  which  he  drew 
what  exactly  suited  Everett's  needs.  He  not  only  knew 


105 


much,  but  he  knew  that  he  knew.  His  confidence  was 
strength,  his  strength  was  knowledge,  his  knowledge 
was  power  that  never  lacked. 

What  others  called  his  misfortune  did  not  bear  that 
name  for  him.  It  had  been  something  to  conquer. 
Taken  captive,  it  became  his  friend.  He  knew  the 
way  out  of  bondage,  away  from  those  taskmasters  who 
make  us  "serve  with  rigor"  according  to  the  require- 
ments of  our  modern  Egypt,  supplying  us  with  none  of 
the  material  for  the  brick  with  which  we  build  a  stable 
future,  yet  demanding  successful  result  at  every  going 
down  of  the  sun. 

When  Everett's  heart  sank  and  the  impulse  to  effort 
well-nigh  died  out,  he  had  but  to  think  of  Paul,  of 
his  unconquerable  will,  his  never-failing  courage  and 
gentle  benignity,  to  have  his  heart  strengthened  and 
impulse  quickened,  his  eye  cleared  of  the  obscuring 
mists  which  made  cloudy  phantoms  appear  opposing 
obstacles. 

He  often  reviewed  the  circumstances  of  their  first 
meeting.  Coming  home  early  in  the  morning  as  the 
sun's  bright  rays  began  to  awaken  the  sleeping  city, 
after  a  night  spent  in  what  he  then  termed  enjoyment, 
he  was  accompanied  by  a  boon  companion  who,  smart- 
ing under  the  consciousness  of  empty  pockets,  insin- 
uated that  he  had  been  cheated  by  Everett  at  the  gam- 
ing-table. 

A  few  hot  words  and  he  had  raised  his  arm  to  strike 
down  the  one  who  had  insulted  him,  when  "  Stop ! " 
uttered  in  a  commanding  voice  which  aroused  ringing 
echoes  in  the  quiet  street,  arrested  him. 

His  companion  turned  quickly  into  a  side  street  as 


106 


he  looked  down  upon  a  diminutive  figure,  which  he 
lost  sight  of  in  the  wonderful  head  and  face  upturned 
to  his. 

"  Why  should  I  stop  ? "  he  demanded  after  a  moment 
in  which  he  gazed  speechlessly. 

"  Because  such  an  act  is  unworthy  of  you,"  was 
the  calm  reply,  and  the  deep  blue  eyes  held  his  own 
steadily. 

His  first  thought  of  unwarrantable  interference  van- 
ished as  he  caught  their  light.  It  seemed  to  shine 
upon  him  from  some  far-off  height  of  which  he  had 
vague  glimpses  in  his  dreams.  His  passion  ebbed  and 
a  certain  sadness  began  to  take  its  place. 

The  stranger  without  further  words  started  in  the 
opposite  direction,  and  Everett,  looking  after  him  for 
a  moment,  walked  home  thoughtfully.  After  this  he 
saw  him  frequently.  He  always  received  the  same 
steady,  penetrating  glance,  and  finally,  one  day,  meet- 
ing him  in  an  unfrequented  portion  of  the  park,  he 
had  approached  him  and  thanked  him  frankly  for  what 
he  had  done. 

Then  had  commenced  a  friendship  which  had  in- 
creased in  strength  till  now;  which  was  destined  to 
broaden  and  deepen  as  their  lives  flowed  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  measureless  sea. 

Paul's  life  of  self-denial  had  contrasted  forcibly  with 
his  of  self-indulgence.  He  lived  in  the  most  simple 
manner,  content  where  Everett  would  have  felt  priva- 
tion. And  yet  he  was  not  without  means  to  command 
more  for  himself,  for  he  always  furnished  help  for  such 
imperative  needs  as  came  to  his  notice. 

He  was  quite  alone  j  he  had  told  Everett  that  he  had 


107 


neither  father,  mother,  brother,  nor  sister ;  no  relations 
at  all  so  far  as  he  knew;  that  his  parents  dying  in 
liis  boyhood,  he  had  been  early  obliged  to  learn  how  to 
live  in  the  within  instead  of  the  without;  that  what 
would  have  seemed  to  others  an  unbearable  existence 
had  become  for  him  a  song  of  praise  and  thanksgiving. 

Always  ready  to  improve  opportunities  for  helpful- 
ness, he  became  a  magnet  drawing  to  him  many  whose 
hidden  lives  became  an  open  scroll  to  him.  Partly 
from  this  contact  and  also  partly  from  the  power  he 
had  developed  of  penetrating  to  the  subjective  planes 
of  existence,  he  was  possessed  of  a  knowledge  of  people 
and  their  affairs  which  would  have  alarmed  many  had 
they  known  of  it,  and  been  productive  of  disastrous 
consequences  had  he  been  capable  of  abusing  it. 

He  had  been  a  resident  for  a  time  in  that  distant 
town  where  Helen  Mathers  and  her  mother  had  made 
their  temporaiy  home,  living  in  their  near  neighbor- 
hood, unknown  to  them  in  their  seclusion.  He  had 
seen  them  afterward  with  Mr.  Mathers  in  New  York, 
whom  he  knew  slightly  through  a  business  transaction. 
Everett's  confidences  had  revealed  much,  and  a  seem- 
ingly chance  encounter  had  again  thrown  in  his  way 
the  woman  who  had  brought  up  the  boy — if  the  no 
care,  scanty  sustenance,  and  frequent  abuse  could  be 
called  "  bringing  up  " — and  who,  finding  him  in  Bentou 
and  earning  money  as  a  newsboy,  had  endeavored  to 
secure  a  share  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

EMMA'S  pretty  home,  under  Mrs.  Jasper  Cunning- 
ham's tenancy,  took  on  an  air  of  luxury  unknown  to 
it  before.  She  was  a  woman  who  enjoyed  the  good 
things  of  life;  who,  she  would  have  said  of  herself, 
could  not  live  without  them.  If  she  must  for  a  while 
longer  forego  the  social  pleasures  at  home  from  which 
she  had  been  debarred  by  her  widowhood,  she  would 
have  at  least  all  the  comforts  to  which  she  had  been 
accustomed,  and  such  enjoyment  as  a  limited  circle  of 
acquaintances  in  Benton  could  afford  her. 

The  rich  and  beautiful  Mrs.  Cunningham  had  called 
upon  Miriam,  whose  growing  fame  had  reached  even 
her  ears.  With  the  gracefully  expressed  hope  that  her 
call  would  not  be  deemed  an  intrusion,  and  an  allusion 
to  the  attraction  of  such  a  woman  as  too  strong  to  be 
resisted  when  in  her  neighborhood,  she  had  chatted  a 
short  half -hour  and  left  with  a  cordial  invitation  to  the 
sisters  to  visit  her  informally  and  give  her  opportunity 
for  further  acquaintance. 

Dr.  Hartwell  was  much  gratified  at  this  token  of 
deference  paid  his  eldest  daughter.  His  pride  in  her 
continually  increased  as  she  demonstrated  more  and 
more  the  truth  of  his  conviction  that  women  need  but 
the  opportunity  to,  if  they  choose,  compete  intellect- 
ually successfully  with  men. 

108 


109 


Miriam  unbent  somewhat  from  her  usual  stately 
dignity  and  fraternized  with  Mrs.  Cunningham  quite 
affably,  accepting  her  invitation  to  informal  intercourse 
in  good  faith.  Sarah,  while  unfailingly  courteous,  did 
not  seek  her  further  acquaintance  so  willingly,  fre- 
quently requiring  urging  from  Miriam  to  go  with  her. 

"  Why  are  you  so  reserved  with  Mrs.  Cunningham, 
Sarah  ? "  she  would  say.  "  It  is  far  better  worth  your 
while  to  cultivate  her  than  some  of  the  people  to 
whom  you  devote  so  much  time  and  who  amount  to 
nothing  in  particular.  You  never  do  seem  to  have 
sufficient  thought  for  your  interests  in  the  choice  of 
your  friends ! " 

"People  affect  us  differently,  you  know,  Miriam," 
Sarah  would  reply  in  her  usual  gentle  way.  She  knew 
by  experience  that  it  was  useless  to  argue  with  her 
sister. 

While  together  at  Mrs.  Cunningham's  one  evening 
when  she  was  entertaining  some  of  her  lately  acquired 
friends,  Sarah  chanced  to  be  seated  with  her  hostess  in 
a  retired  corner  of  the  room.  She  was  listening  to  an 
animated  description  of  the  delights  of  New  York  in 
the  "season,"  and  endeavoring  to  feel  an  interest  in 
What  was  evidently  the  sum  of  human  happiness  to 
her  companion,  when  one  of  two  gentlemen  conversing 
near  them  mentioned  the  name  of  "  Long,"  followed  by 
a  remark  in  a  lower  tone  and  evidently  intended  for 
the  ear  of  the  other  only. 

Mrs.  Cunningham  halted  in  her  description  abruptly, 
listened  an  instant  without  avail,  turned  to  Sarah,  and 
asked,  "  Is  the  Mr.  Long  they  mentioned  a  resident  of 
Bentou?" 


110 


"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  he  is." 

"  Do  you  know  his  given  name  ? " 

"  It  is  Everett,  I  believe." 

She  felt  the  start  which  Mrs.  Cunningham  gave  as 
she  heard  her  reply,  and  looked  at  her  involuntarily, 
but  turned  her  eyes  at  once  in  another  direction  when 
she  saw  the  color  come  and  go  in  her  face,  and  appeared 
to  be  unaware  of  the  widow's  effort  at  unconcern.  She 
began  to  speak  of  something  else,  but  was  interrupted 
by  Mrs.  Cunningham  as  if  she  had  not  heard  her. 

"  How  old  is  he,  should  you  think  ? " 

"  He  appears  to  be  about  thirty-five  or  six." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  know  of  him,  will  you  please  ? " 

"  He  is  one  of  the  rising  men  of  our  city,  and  worthy 
every  one's  respect  and  esteem.  He  is  one  of  the  no- 
blest men  I  ever  knew,"  Sarah  replied  warmly  as  a  light 
leaped  to  her  eyes. 

"  Is  he  married  ? " 

"No." 

The  beautiful  widow  drew  a  long,  tremulous  breath. 
"It  is  very  warm  here,  do  you  not  think?"  and,  ris- 
ing, she  went  to  one  of  the  windows  and  stood  there 
silently. 

Sarah  observed  her  thoughtfully.  What  an  interest 
she  seemed  to  have  in  Mr.  Long,  though  she  evidently 
had  not  heard  of  what  was  generally  termed — if  no 
stronger  expression  was  used — his  unmitigated  foolish- 
ness ! 

Ah !  the  wisdom  of  this  world  which  was  foolishness 
as  compared  with  a  higher.  How  many  of  those  who 
condemned  him  could  have  acted  as  he  had  done? 
could  have  found  the  strength  to  be  true  to  their  best, 


Ill 


to  face  and  endure  a  merciless  public  opinion  rather 
than  an  accusing  conscience  ?  How  many  would  have 
had  an  accusing  conscience  ? 

The  way  of  the  world  was  the  way  of  expediency,  with 
as  much  personal  gratification  as  could  be  secured. 

The  way  of  the  eternal  was  the  "Via  Dolorosa" 
which  leads  to  the  blessedness  beyond  happiness.  The 
journey  of  him  who  had  courage  to  pursue  it,  to  tread 
its  flint-strewn  surface  unallured  by  the  flower-decked 
paths  on  either  side,  was  uncheered  by  companionship. 
In  its  appalling  loneliness  his  head  must  be  bared  to 
every  storm,  his  naked  feet  leave  blood  behind  them. 
All  honor  to  that  pilgrim  who  as  yet  was  an  uncrowned 
king  and  whose  sought-for  kingdom  was  not  of  this 
world ! 

Mrs.  Cunningham  did  not  have  her  usual  reposeful 
manner  the  rest  of  the  evening.  She  seemed  distrait, 
and  sometimes  returned  irrelevant  answers  to  the  re- 
marks of  her  guests.  Later  in  the  evening  she  drew 
Miriam  into  a  quiet  corner. 

"  Come  and  tell  me  something  of  what  you  are  doing 
now,"  she  said.  "  You  are  such  an  indomitable  worker 
you  make  me  almost  ashamed  of  myself.  How  are  you 
succeeding  with  the  'Woman's  Higher  Thought  League' 
you  are  endeavoring  to  organize  ?  " 

"Not  so  well  at  present  as  I  had  hoped,"  replied 
Miriam  with  a  sigh.  "  Women — some  women — are  so 
slow  to  get  out  of  the  old  ruts.  Their  inertia  is  very 
discouraging.  They  have  been  tied  to  the  priesthood 
so  long,  have  been  taught  for  so  many  generations  the 
beauty  and  womanliness  of  unquestioning  faith,  the 
disastrous  consequences  of  questioning  what  they  are 


112 


told,  that  they  view  with  alarm  any  effort  to  stimulate 
them  to  this  end.  The  most  hopeless  slave  is  the  one 
who  does  not  know  he  is  in  bondage." 

"  But  you  will  yet  succeed,  I  am  sure/'  answered  her 
companion  encouragingly.  "You  always  do  succeed 
in  whatever  you  undertake.  I  never  knew  a  woman 
like  you." 

"  Not  yet,  if  the  women  I  am  endeavoring  to  rouse 
to  individual  thinking  agree  with  the  Rev.  Mr.  More- 
naught.  He  told  them  last  Sunday  that  the  intelligent 
agnostic  was  more  dangerous  to  the  church  than  the 
pronounced  infidel,"  replied  Miriam  with  a  cold  smile. 
"Harder  even  to  overcome  than  the  prejudice  and 
bigotry  of  ignorance  is  the  ill-founded  enthusiasm  of 
women  who  are  governed  by  sentiment.  They  simply 
will  not  see  that  the  progress  of  the  race  depends  upon 
woman's  advance  beyond  what  they  call  religion  as 
well  as  in  other  directions." 

"Well,  your  splendid  example  will  go  a  long  way 
toward  helping  them  to  see  it,"  returned  Mrs.  Cunning- 
ham consolingly.  "  By  the  way,  do  you  know  a  gentle- 
man in  this  city  by  the  name  of  Everett  Long  ? " 

A  change  came  over  Miriam's  face.  "  Yes,"  she  an- 
swered briefly. 

"  Is  he  a  friend  of  yours  ? " 

Miriam  hesitated. 

"  I  knew  him  quite  well  at  one  time,  but  I  have  seen 
very  little  of  him  lately." 

"  Is  he  a  prominent  man  here  ?  " 

"He  has  a  very  undesirable  prominence  in  some 
respects." 

"Why!  How?  TeU  me  aU  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Cun- 
ningham eagerly. 


113 


"It  is  commonly  talked  of;  I  should  suppose  you 
would  have  heard  of  it,"  replied  Miriam.  "  He  threw 
away  every  prospect  he  had  " — and  her  tone  was  hard 
and  severe — "  by  acknowledging  openly  an  illegitimate 
son,  and  taking  the  boy  to  live  with  him.  What  is  the 
matter  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

Mrs.  Cunningham's  head  had  fallen  back  against  the 
chair  and  the  color  had  left  her  face.  Miriam  was 
about  to  start  up  when  her  companion  put  forth  a  de- 
taining hand. 

"It  is  nothing,"  she  said  tremulously;  "I  shall  be 
better  in  a  moment." 

Her  maid  was  surprised  that  evening  when  her  mis- 
tress dismissed  her  much  earlier  than  usual,  cutting 
short  the  usually  elaborate  preparations  for  the  night 
and  for  the  preservation  of  her  beauty. 

"  Sometliing  must  have  happened  to  upset  her,"  she 
confided  to  the  parlor  maid.  "  She  says  perhaps  she'll 
give  up  this  cottage  and  go  to  the  sea-shore  some- 
wheres.  Lord !  the  more  some  people  have  the  more 
they  want ! " 

Two  days  later  the  agent  through  whom  Mrs.  Cun- 
ningham had  become  a  resident  of  Benton  received  a 
visit  from  his  fair  patron,  who  announced  her  intention 
of  leaving  the  city. 

"  Of  course  I  will  pay  for  the  full  term  for  which  I 
engaged  the  house,"  she  said.  "  But  the  place  does  not 
agree  with  me  as  well  as  I  expected.  I  think  I  need 
the  air  of  the  sea-shore.  It  was  always  a  tonic  for 
me,"  and  she  smiled  engagingly. 

Like  most  men,  he  found  her  smile,  which  made  her 
mouth,  if  possible,  more  beautiful  than  ever,  irresisti- 
ble. Between  the  effect  it  had  upon  him,  surprise  at 


114 


her  departure,  and  relief  that  there  was  to  be  no 
trouble  over  the  financial  part  of  the  situation,  he 
almost  stammered  as  he  replied: 

u  Sorry,  indeed,  to  lose  you,  Mrs.  Cunningham .  Your 
departure  will  be  generally  regretted.  I  was  thinking 
only  this  morning  that  you  might  like  the  house  and 
Benton  well  enough  to  have  a  permanent  residence 
here.  I  have  just  received  instructions  from  Mr.  Hem- 
ming way  to  sell  it  if  possible." 

"  Indeed !  "  The  lady  moved  gracefully  to  the  door. 
"  I  do  not  think  I  wish  to  purchase  it.  My  prepara- 
tions will  require  a  few  days  yet.  No,  my  carriage  is 
not  here,"  as,  having  accompanied  her,  he  looked  in- 
quiringly up  and  down  the  street.  "  My  coachman  is 
ill  and  I  came  in  the  car.  Is  there  not  a  river  path 
near  here  which  leads  to  our  section  of  the  city  ?  Yes  ? 
I  thought  I  had  heard  of  one.  Oh,  no,  thank  you,"  as 
he  proposed  accompanying  her  to  the  entrance  of  the 
path.  "  I  can  find  it  readily.  It  is  very  quiet  and  re- 
tired, I  believe.  I  think  I  will  walk.  I  am  quite  sure 
I  have  had  hardly  enough  exercise  lately." 

And  with  another  charming  smile  she  moved  in  the 
direction  pointed  out  to  her. 

Everett  Long  was  taking  one  of  the  solitary  walks 
which  soothed  and  encouraged  him.  The  path  by  the 
river  owed  part  of  its  well-beaten  surface  to  his  fre- 
quent tread.  Often  as  he  had  traversed  it,  he  contin- 
ually found  new  beauties  in  the  surroundings,  new 
revelations  of  the  relation  of  nature  to  man. 

How  often  has  the  failure  of  cherished  hopes  to  find 
their  fulfillment  in  the  human  world  turned  the  eager 
seeker  to  the  natural,  there  to  find  hitherto  unknown 


115 


treasures,  compensation  and  consolation  for  losses  and 
disappointments !  The  heart's  extremity  is  the  soul's 
opportunity. 

His  hours  of  sadness  became  at  times  songs  of  glad- 
ness, of  rejoicing  that,  so  far,  he  had  been  able  to  make 
unceasing  effort  to  live  to  his  best.  The  many  voices 
of  nature,  unheard  by  those  who  have  not  yet  learned 
to  seek  her  ministrations,  sang  to  him  of  a  soul  world 
thinly  veiled  by  the  visible ;  a  veil  growing  more  and 
more  transparent  for  him  as  he  caught  the  echoes  of 
the  majestic  harmonies  beyond  it. 

He  was  learning  to  see  the  meaning  of  a  phrase 
Paul  had  quoted  to  him,  which  had  seemed  more  than 
obscure  when  he  heard  it  first : 

"  Before  the  eyes  can  see  they  must  be  incapable  of 
tears." 

He  knew — oh,  how  well ! — that  when  his  eyes  were 
filled  with  the  tears  of  unsatisfied  desires  and  thwarted 
mortal  hopes  they  were  blinded  to  glories  which  lie 
beyond  and  which  must  wait  for  a  season ;  wait  till 
the  slowly  kindled  fire  of  aspiration  should  dry  the 
eyes  and  clear  the  vision ;  wait  till  the  god  within, 
feeling  the  loosening  of  the  fetters  binding  him,  lo ! 
these  thousand  years,  should  raise  his  head  and  look 
out  serenely  at  the  trials  confronting  him,  knowing 
their  powerlessness  and  his  own  might,  knowing  the 
end  from  the  beginning. 

As  he  walked  his  thoughts  dwelt  upon  Sarah  Hart- 
well.  Here  she  had  met  him  when  he  was  bowed 
beneath  the  effort  to  do  his  duty,  and  had  seemed  a 
heaven-sent  messenger. 

What  an  influence  seemed  to  emanate  from  her,  sub- 


116 


tie,  indefinable,  but  leaving  its  results  with  him  when 
she  had  gone !  She  was  so  gentle  and  unobtrusive, 
when  in  Miriam's  presence  so  overshadowed  by  her  tal- 
ented sister,  he  had  noticed  her  but  little.  He  had  often 
thought — and  with  increasing  admiration  of  her  ability 
— of  what  she  had  said  to  him  that  evening  when 
he  had  asked  her  to  explain  her  views,  and  of  his  own 
curious  experience  as  he  listened  to  her. 

What  she  had  said  came  back  to  him  now  and  then, 
each  time  with  added  force,  a  new  revelation  of  mean- 
ing. The  agnostic  "I  do  not  know"  was  changing  for 
him  to  "  I  am  finding  the  way  to  know."  Her  words 
were  no  longer  so  enigmatical.  He  was  finding  their 
translation  in  his  own  within. 

After  months  of  unceasing  effort  and  some  modifi- 
cation of  the  boy's  habits,  he  had  sent  his  son  away  to 
school,  keeping  himself  informed  of  his  welfare.  It 
was  a  great  relief,  for  which  he  felt  self-reproach. 
"  Only  that  which  is  overcome  helps  us  on,  not  that 
which  is  avoided,"  he  said  to  himself. 

He  saw  a  lady  approaching  him  as  he  rounded  a 
bend  in  the  path,  and  moved  to  one  side  to  give  her 
more  room  to  pass.  As  their  eyes  met,  something 
halted  him,  seemingly  without  Ms  own  volition. 

Who  was  she  ? 

She,  too,  had  come  almost  to  a  stop,  but  half  turned 
as  if  undecided  whether  to  go  backward  or  forward. 
She  looked  at  him  again  with  a  startled  yet  searching 
expression  in  her  face.  He  took  a  step  forward,  im- 
pelled by  he  knew  not  what,  and  "  Helen  Mathers !  " 
"  Everett  Long ! "  burst  from  their  lips  simultane- 
ously. 

Seventeen  years  vanished,  and  he  was  back  again  in 


117 


the  country  village  where  a  summer-time  had  been  a 
fools'  paradise  for  the  youth  who  was  yet  to  learn — 
and  at  what  cost ! — the  purpose  of  life.  A  dark-haired 
girl  with  bewitching  brown  eyes  had  been  the  Eve  of 
that  Eden.  Truly  her  desire  had  been  unto  him  and 
he  had  ruled  over  her. 

But  this  woman  who  looked  into  his  eyes  now — a 
mingled  dread  and  expectation  in  her  own — could 
this  be  that  youthful  companion  who  had  power  to 
draw  him  whither  she  would  ?  And  did  he  now  feel 
only  the  impulse  to  leave  her,  to  go  away  as  quickly  as 
he  could  ? 

She  seemed  to  take  a  sudden  resolve  as  they  stood 
facing  each  other,  the  lightning-like  rush  of  reminis- 
cence half  blinding  and  deafening  them  and  making 
every  nerve  quiver.  She  held  out  her  hand  with  a 
smile  which  belied  the  pallor  of  her  face,  whitened  by 
the  fear  still  lurking  in  her  eyes,  and  said,  "  Are  you 
not  glad  to  see  me  after  all  these  years  ? " 

He  took  her  hand,  noting  with  that  curious  analysis 
which  sometimes  attends  even  the  strongest  emotions 
that  the  contact  did  not  thrill  him  as  it  once  had  done. 
But  he  did  not  readily  find  the  words  with  which  to 
reply  to  her  greeting. 

"It  is  indeed  many  years  since  we  met,"  he  said 
finally. 

He  did  not  smile.  His  face  was  grave  as  he  gently 
let  go  her  hand. 

"  Do  you  live  in  Benton  ? "  she  went  on. 

The  surprise  was  as  yet  too  great  for  anything  but 
commonplaces. 

"Yes.     And  you?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  here  temporarily  only." 


118 


A  silence  fell  between  them.  Each  was  waiting  for 
the  other.  She  looked  up  and  down  the  path,  which 
was  visible  for  some  distance  from  the  bend  where  they 
stood.  No  one  was  in  sight.  The  fear  slowly  vanished 
from  her  eyes.  She  laid  her  hand  caressingly  on  his 
arm. 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me — Everett  ? " 

"  Much,  Helen.  Much,  indeed,  when  I  remember  the 
past." 

He  looked  at  her  still  gravely  and  placed  his  hand 
gently  over  her  own. 

She  was  very  beautiful,  he  thought ;  a  dangerous 
rival  for  the  Helen  of  old.  The  brown  eyes  were  soft 
and  melting,  the  cheeks  had  retained  the  rose-flush,  the 
mouth  the  seductiveness  of  sixteen.  Her  form  was 
full  and  round,  with  a  swelling  bust  which  rose  and 
fell  with  her  still  startled  breath ;  her  throat  was  white 
and  firm.  She  had  ripened  in  the  years  since  they 
met,  but  she  was  still  young. 

"  How  have  you  fared  ?    Well,  I  hope  and  believe  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  have  nothing  of  which  to  complain.  I 
was  married  at  eighteen,  and  to  a  kind,  indulgent  hus- 
band." 

He  moved  a  little  away  from  her,  and  her  hand 
dropped  from  his  arm. 

"Helen,"  he  said,  "in  the  years  that  have  passed 
since  we  separated  I  have  learned  something.  In  my 
life  there  has  been  much  to  regret,  much  to  redeem. 
I  have  made  many  mistakes  and  have  suffered — shall 
continue  to  suffer — their  consequences.  This  is  just. 
I  wronged  you,  not  intentionally,  but  as  the  result 
of  thoughtless  youth.  There  is  nothing  I  would  not 


119 


do  to  atone  for  it,  were  atonement  in  my  power.  Can 
you  believe  me — and  forgive  me  ? " 

He  bowed  his  head  before  her ;  his  whole  attitude 
attested  his  sincerity. 

She  gave  a  startled  glance  up  and  down  the  path, 
moving  a  little  to  have  the  better  view  in  either  direc- 
tion. She  seemed  relieved  as  she  replied : 

"  What  is  past  is  past.  It  cannot  be  recalled.  We 
had  better  leave  it  to  itself.  Do  not  let  us  refer  to  it 
again.  I  have  only  kindly  feelings  toward  you,"  and 
the  melting  eyes  for  an  instant  sought  his.  "If  we 
meet  in  the  future,  let  us  remember  only  that  we  are 
friends.  Shall  we  ?"  and  her  little  hand  was  again  out- 
stretched to  him. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Everett,  meeting  it  frankly 
and  looking  at  her  gratefully.  "  I  thank  you." 

In  the  distance  she  saw  some  one  advancing.  "  Good- 
liy,'?  she  said,  withdrawing  her  hand  and  moving  for- 
ward. 

"  Good-by,"  raising  his  hat. 

He  watched  her  a  moment  as  she  walked  rapidly  but 
irracefully  from  him,  and  then  continued  his  own  way. 
His  head  was  in  a  whirl,  and  the  ground  seemed  un- 
certain under  his  feet. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

MRS.  CUNNINGHAM  was  alone  in  her  own  room.  She 
had  given  directions  that  she  was  not  at  home  and  was 
not  to  be  disturbed,  had  locked  the  door,  and  felt 
herself  secure  from  interruption.  She  was  in  a  very 
perplexed  frame  of  mind  and  needed  uninterrupted 
opportunity  for  "  thinking  it  all  out." 

She  was  reclining  on  a  luxurious  couch  heaped  high 
with  cushions.  She  had  pulled  the  pins  from  her  hair, 
which  tumbled  unchecked  over  her  shoulders  and  bust 
in  its  nest  of  lace,  half  revealed  by  the  unfastened  soft 
silken  wrapper  she  wore.  The  raised  arms,  her  clasped 
hands  supporting  her  head,  added  the  alluring  witchery 
of  womanhood  to  the  soft  seductiveness  of  childhood. 
White  and  smooth  and  round,  they  could  frame  in  a 
world  of  hitherto  only  dreamed-of  delights. 

"  How  handsome  he  has  grown !  "  she  mused.  "  I 
never  saw  a  more  distinguished-looking  man.  But 
how  he  has  changed !  He  was  so  careless  and  light- 
hearted,  and  now  he  seems  grave  and  reserved.  Really, 
he  quite  awed  me.  I  wonder — dear  me !  this  couch  is 
not  as  comfortable  as  it  used  to  be,"  and  she  moved 
restlessly. 

"  He  used  to  be  very  fond  of  me.  I  could  do  with 
him  whatever  I  wished.  I  do  not  think  I  have  lost  the 
power  to  attract."  She  looked  steadily  in  the  mirror. 
"No.  I  am  beautiful  enough  to  win  any  man  if  I 

120 


121 


choose  to  do  it.  I  wonder  if  it  is  worth  my  while  ? " 
She  was  lost  in  reverie  for  a  moment. 

Suddenly  she  started  to  her  feet.  "  Oh,  heaven !  the 
child !  Can  it  be — no.  It  is  impossible.  He  cannot 
know —  " 

Her  breath  came  pantingly.  She  looked  furtively 
about,  as  if  even  in  the  privacy  of  her  room  something 
dangerous  to  her  might  be  lurking ;  and  then  covered 
her  eyes  with  her  hand  as  though  to  shut  out  some- 
thing she  did  not  wish  to  see.  But  she  could  not  close 
her  ears.  She  heard  again  across  the  intervening 
years  the  infant  wail  that  had  sounded  in  them  but  a 
few  brief  moments — brief  in  the  new  feeling  wliich 
suddenly  sprang  up  within  her,  sweet  in  its  short-lived 
intensity,  long  in  the  haunting  shame  which  stood  by 
spectre-like  and  sternly  forbade  her  to  desire  aught 
but  silence  and  flight. 

The  silence  which  covered  that  period  of  her  life — 
for  she  had  obeyed — had  been  unbroken  till  now.  Her 
mother  had  gone  into  the  invisible  with  the  secret  still 
kept.  Her  father  did  not  know,  no  one  had  ever 
known.  And  Everett  could  not  know,  for  she  was 
ignorant  herself  of  her  condition  when  he  went  away, 
to  come  back  in  a  fortnight.  And  he  never  came. 

She  had  forgotten,  in  the  surprise  of  meeting  him, 
what  Miriam  had  told  her  about  his  illegitimate  son. 
She  remembered  it  now,  but  it  could  not  be.  It  was 
quite  impossible.  Then  this  must  be  another!  She 
almost  laughed.  "  O  Everett,  Everett !  yours  has  been 
the  way  of  the  world  after  all.  No,  not  the  adoption. 
That  is  a  new  departure !  Strange !  How  could  he  do 
such  a  thing,  I  wonder  ? 


122 


"  But  he  is  very  handsome.  I  have  half  a  mind  not 
to  go.  I  wonder  what  I  shall  risk  by  staying?  I 
should  like  to  try  my  power  with  him  again.  It  seems 
to  me  that  as  long  as  he  is  ignorant  of — that,  I  am 
safe  enough.  I  never  failed  with  a  man  yet  if  I  chose 
to  bring  him  to  my  feet.  There  is  something  im- 
mensely fascinating  in  his  dark  eyes.  What  is  it? 
Melancholy  ?  N — no,  not  that.  Oh  dear !  life  is  not 
worth  living  without  some  excitement.  This  is  such  a 
slow  place ;  but  perhaps —  " 

Her  eyes  fell  on  a  diamond  bracelet  which  dazzlingly 
reflected  a  sunbeam  as  it  lay  on  her  dressing-table. 

"  How  careless !  "  as  she  went  to  it  and  picked  it  up. 
"  I  have  told  Susan  repeatedly  not  to  leave  one  of  my 
jewels  in  sight." 

She  held  it  caressingly  in  her  hand  for  a  moment 
before  opening  a  door  in  the  side  of  a  bureau,  reveal- 
ing a  small  but  heavy  steel  box. 

"  And  here  is  the  key  in  the  lock,  too !     Imbecile !  " 

She  raised  the  lid  and  disclosed  rings,  brooches, 
pendants,  a  glistening  array,  which  she  patted  lovingly 
as  she  deposited  the  bracelet. 

"  Oh,  you  darlings !     Aren't  you  superb  ? " 

She  could  not  remember  when  she  did  not  love  gems. 
As  a  child  they  possessed  a  charm  for  her,  of  which  her 
mother  had  taken  advantage.  She  could  be  persuaded- 
to  do  anything  by  being  allowed  to  wear  a  necklace  or 
some  other  ornament  for  an  hour.  This  childish  liking 
had  grown  with  her  growth,  and  strengthened  with  her 
strength,  till  it  had  become  a  passion  with  her.  Her 
husband  had  gratified  it  most  generously,  for  he  was 
dotingly  fond  of  her;  and  she  carried  many  of  her 


123 


treasures  with  her  wherever  she  went,  unable  to  be 
parted  from  them.  The  loss  of  a  beautiful  emerald 
ring  had  wrung  as  bitter  tears  from  her  as  she  had 
ever  slied. 

Her  thoughts  reverted  to  Everett  again,  as  having 
locked  the  box  she  placed  the  key  where  it  was  not 
likely  to  be  found  except  by  one  who  knew  its  hiding- 
place. 

"  Miriam  said  he  was  a  rising  man,  sure  to  be  one  of 
the  leaders  of  the  time  had  he  not  thrown  away  his 
chances  by  his  foolishness.  Then  he  has  plenty  of  sen- 
timent for  all  he  was  so  grave  and  reserved  to-day.  He 
loved  me  once — and  I  loved  him — then — oh,  well !  I 
have  seen  more  of  the  world  since.  I  thought  I  never 
could  get  over  it  when  he  did  not  come  back.  There 
is  all  the  difference  in  the  world  between  the  girl  of 
sixteen  and  the  woman  of — thirty;  just  thirty.  I  do 
not  intend  to  be  a  day  older  for  the  next  five  years.  I 
wonder  if  he  is  rich?  I  did  not  think  of  that  then. 
How  it  used  to  thrill  me  when  he  held  my  hands  and 
looked  at  me  in  that  persuasive  way  of  his !  Nonsense ! 
The  past  is  past.  Why  can  I  not  let  it  alone  ?  It  seems 
to  me  I  am  safe  enough  now.  How  far  above  me  he 
seemed  with  all  his  gentleness !  I  have  seen  unap- 
proachable men  before  and  I  have  seen  them —  " 

She  smiled  triumphantly  as  reminiscences  passed  be- 
fore her.  She  had  measured  successfully  the  sword  of 
woman's  beauty  with  the  weapon  of  man's  dignity  too 
often  to  have  any  timidity  now.  Only  that  past !  that 
past !  She  had  said  "  Let  it  go  "  often  enough.  But  it 
would  not  go — and  stay.  She  was  haunted  by  the  fear 
that  it  might  rise  up  at  any  moment  to  confront  her. 


124 


But  how  could  it?  There  was  just  enough  danger 
in  the  prospect  to  add  an  exciting  element.  She  was 
free,  rich,  young,  and  beautiful.  The  more  she  thought 
of  Everett  Long  the  more  she  wanted  to  meet  him 
again,  the  more  her  curiosity  was  aroused  to  know  of 
his  life  since  that  summer  in  Grovedale — where  he  had 
been,  what  he  had  done.  They  were  to  be  friends. 
Why  might  she  not  stay  for  a  while  longer  ? 

A  sudden  thought  seemed  to  strike  her.  Rising,  she 
went  to  a  desk  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  With  care- 
ful deliberation  and  many  pauses  she  wrote  a  note, 
which  she  folded  and  inclosed  in  an  envelope,  dipping 
her  pen  in  the  ink  ready  to  address  it.  Then  she  be- 
thought herself  that  she  did  not  know  his  address. 

"Never  mind;  I  can  find  that  out.  The  directory 
will  tell  me.  This  will  make  it  easier." 

Another  was  written,  which  bore  the  address  of  the 
agent  she  had  visited. 

"  Mrs.  Cunningham  has  exercised  her  woman's  privi- 
lege and  changed  her  mind,"  he  said  to  his  assistant 
when  he  read  it  the  next  day.  "  They  never  do  know 
what  they  want  for  more  than  twenty-four  hours  at  a 
time.  Glad  of  it  though.  Hope  she'll  take  it  into  her 
head  to  buy  the  house  next.  It'll  mean  something  for 
us.  Hemmingway's  pretty  hard  up,  I  guess." 

Everett  came  home  after  the  meeting  in  the  river 
path  as  one  in  a  dream.  It  was  so  sudden,  so  unex- 
pected. Since  taking  the  boy  under  his  protection  he 
had  thought  of  her  many  times  and  wondered  if  he 
should  ever  see  her  again.  "  It  is  the  unexpected  that 
always  happens,"  he  quoted  to  himself.  Happens? 
Ah,  no !  He  knew  better  now — knew  that  nothing 


125 


happens,  but  that  the  sequence  of  cause  and  effect  is 
the  immutable  law  seeming  to  be  chance  for  the  short- 
sighted mortals  unable  to  read  its  continuity. 

He  knew  that  existence  was  but  sowing  and  reaping, 
and  that  the  reaper's  astonishment  at  his  harvest  was 
often  due  to  his  ignorance  of  the  nature  of  his  seed. 
He  knew  that  every  intermediary  between  the  begin- 
ning and  the  end  would  be  in  its  own  place  and  he 
would  have  to  reckon  with  every  one  of  them. 

He  looked  for  no  interposition  of  Divine  Providence 
to  produce  or  remove  any.  He  had  no  angry  wrath  to 
fear,  no  supplications  to  make.  The  law  of  cause  and 
effect  satisfied  his  reason  and  fortified  his  heart  and 
soul.  He  had  but  to  see  and  do. 

He  remembered  that  he  did  not  know  her  name — 
knew  of  her  absolutely  nothing.  He  wondered  if  he 
should  meet  her  again;  wondered,  with  a  flash  of 
recollection  which  cut  him  like  a  knife,  what  she  would 
say  if  she  knew  he  had  their  child.  He  had  not  once 
thought  of  the  boy  while  with  her — the  boy  who  had 
her  eyes,  with  a  devil  in  them  he  had  never  seen  in  the 
mother's. 

The  complications  of  their  mutual  position  rushed 
over  him  all  at  once.  She  had  abandoned  the  child  in 
its  tender  infancy,  had  known — presumably — nothing 
of  it,  and  had  not  cared  to  know.  Would  she  care 
now? 

No,  she  was  married.  The  knowledge  would  but 
rouse  in  her  an  appalling  horror  instead  of  a  mother's 
yearning  to  look  upon  her  child.  Perhaps  they  would 
not  meet  again !  And  yet  future  meeting  was  probable 
if  they  could  thus  come  face  to  face  after  so  many 


126 


years.  How  should  he  meet  her?  What  should  he 
do  ?  As  friends,  she  had  said.  And  he  had  assented. 
Should  he,  then,  not  only  meet  her  as  a  friend,  but  be 
to  her  a  friend  whether  he  ever  met  her  again  or  not  ? 

Clearly.  As  a  friend  to  her,  then,  her  sincere  friend, 
what  should  be  his  course  of  action  ?  He  thought  long 
and  carefully,  listening  for  the  inner  voice  which  had 
guided  him  so  wisely ;  which  had  never  failed  to  sound 
its  note  of  warning  when  he  gave  it  opportunity  to  be 
heard. 

"Live  to  your  best,"  came  ringing  over  interminable 
spaces  in  the  moments  when  he  weighed  duty  and  in- 
clination the  one  against  the  other. 

He  had  nothing  and  she  had  everything  to  lose 
through  relationship  to  the  child.  His  step  had  been 
taken ;  he  had  faced  and  was  passing  through  its  conse- 
quences. He  had  no  right  to  force  unwelcome  knowl- 
edge on  her,  no  right  to  show  her  her  duty  as  his  had 
appeared  to  him.  She  had  family  ties,  probably  chil- 
dren ;  he  had  none.  It  was  only  right  he  should  bear 
his  own  burdens  in  silence.  She  did  not  live  in  Ben- 
ton  ;  she  had  said  she  was  but  stopping  there  tempo- 
rarily. It  was  not  probable  that  she  and  the  boy  would 
ever  come  together.  He  wondered  what  would  be  the 
result  if  they  did — if  any  of  the  attraction  of  kinship 
would  be  felt  by  either  ? 

It  was  the  third  day  since  he  met  her.  He  had  set- 
tled and  dismissed  the  questions  roused  by  the  meeting, 
and  gone  back  to  his  accustomed  routine.  He  read  a 
great  deal,  studied  much,  thought  more.  In  the  soli- 
tude in  which  he  lived  since  he  had  placed  the  boy  at 
school,  and  which  was  largely  self-imposed — for  many 


127 


who  had  either  laughed  at  or  denounced  him  were  be- 
ginning to  manifest  a  change  in  their  views — he  was 
opening  up  deeps  in  his  own  nature  of  which  formerly 
he  had  had  no  knowledge. 

He,  too,  could  say,  "Old  things  are  passed  away,  and 
all  things  are  become  new."  A  world  grew  up  around 
him  in  which  he  had  no  lack  of  companionship.  It 
held  no  sorrow,  misery,  or  crime.  It  was  active,  glow- 
ing, continually  expanding  with  the  mighty  rhythm 
which  throbbed  everywhere,  unseen  and  unheard  with 
the  outer  senses.  Vista  on  vista  of  overwhelming  pos- 
sibilities opened  to  him  as  he  blended  his  consciousness 
with  this  great  -pulse  of  the  universe,  and  which  he  was 
learning  to  do  at  will.  He  could  look  in  and  through 
a  changing,  revolving,  ever-developing  series  of  circles, 
in  light,  of  light,  made  up  of  light,  their  whole  essence 
and  substance,  and  all  contained  in  them,  light,  light, 
light.  Worlds  on  worlds,  all  living,  breathing,  throb- 
bing  light !  And  colors  which  were  alive,  so  alive  that 
the  variegated  forms  of  the  external  world  were  thrice- 
dead  corpses  beside  them ! 

In  the  nineteenth  century,  in  the  prosaic  city  of  Ben- 
ton,  in  the  every-day  atmosphere  of  an  apartment 
where  he  was  surrounded  by  the  common  chairs  and 
tables  of  common  every-day  life,  he  was  beginning  to 
taste  of  infinity. 

To-day  he  turned  to  this  inner  world,  which  smiled 
upon  him  the  more  gloriously  fair  for  the  darkness  of 
the  moment  through  which  he  had  been  feeling  his 
way.  Silent  and  motionless  he  sat — something  sat — 
with  head  leaning  against  the  chair,  hands — long,  strong 
hands  with  sensitive  finger-tips — lying  passive.  He 


128 


was  gone,  moving,  with  a  freedom  and  an  impetus 
which  continually  fed  itself,  through  regions  where  he 
was  at  home,  where  he  belonged,  for  he  was  of  them. 

He  came  to  a  great  city  which  lifted  its  mighty 
towers  and  domes  far  out  of  sight.  He  walked  through 
its  spaciousness,  seeing  the  whole  at  every  point ;  or- 
der, symmetry,  harmony — power  in  visible  form.  For 
it  was  peopled ;  peopled  with  men  who  were  as  gods  in 
their  majesty  and  strength,  as  goddesses  in  their  beauty 
and  tenderness.  They  trod  as  conquerors.  In  their 
faces  were  benedictions.  From  all  sides  the  vast  sea  of 
living  color  vibrated  to  a  central  point  above,  which 
was  veiled  in  a  mellow  glow.  Whiter  and  whiter  it 
grew  as  he  gazed  upon  it,  brighter  and  brighter,  more 
dazzling,  more  radiant,  till  there  burst  forth  the  sun  of 
that  city — the  woman  of  light. 

"  Man  which  is  born  of  woman  is  of  few  days,  and 
full  of  trouble." 

Man  which  is  born  of  the  woman  is  for  eternity  and 
full  of  power,  for  he  is  born  King. 

He  was  walking  no  longer,  he  was  rising  toward  her, 
drawn  by  invisible  chords  which  thrilled  with  a  subtle 
music,  impelled  by  the  very  atmosphere  of  the  wonder- 
ful city,  whose  men-gods  gazed  after  him.  But  the 
glow  began  to  close  over  him  as  she  stretched  toward 
him  welcoming  hands. 

"  Sorry  to  disturb  you,  sir,  but  the  messenger  boy  is 
waiting  for  an  answer." 

The  servant  stood  beside  him  with  a  note.  He 
looked  at  it,  unable  to  recognize  the  handwriting.  He 
broke  the  seal. 


129 


"  DEAR  EVERETT  :  We  are  to  be  friends.  This  was 
our  compact.  Will  you  grant  a  wish  of  mine?  If  our 
next  meeting  should  be  in  the  presence  of  others  will 
you  please  appear  as  if  it  were  our  first — as  if  we 
were  strangers  to  each  other  ? " 

The  note  bore  no  date  or  signature.  He  pondered  a 
moment.  Why  not?  he  said  to  himself.  He  wrote  a 
reply : 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  desire." 

The  messenger  had  but  just  departed  when  Paul  ap- 
peared. 

"  Old  chap !  you  are  as  welcome  as  a  spring  of  water 
in  a  thirsty  land/'  said  Everett  as  they  clasped  hands. 
Paul's  sweet  and  benignant  smile  played  over  his  face 
as  he  replied : 

"  May  your  thirst  increase  and  the  supply  never  fail ! 
How  are  you  thinking  ?  " 

"Trying  to  think  up  and  not  down.  You  have 
coached  me  so  persistently  in  that  line  it  ought  not  to 
be  an  effort." 

"  Good.     What  do  you  hear  from  the  boy  ? " 

Everett's  face  changed.  "  They  write  me  that  he  is 
very  hard  to  control  and  seems  to  have  little  ambition 
to  learn.  I  fear —  " 

"  Up  and  not  down,  Everett,"  said  Paul  quickly. 

"You  are  right,  Paul.  We  help  no  one  by  seeing 
his  worst,  do  we  ?  I — I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

"You  have  seen  Helen  Mathers,"  returned  Paul 
composedly. 

Used  as  he  was  to  Paul's  wonderful  foreknowledge 
he  stared  at  him. 


130 


u  Traces  of  your  contact  with  her  are  about  you  still/' 
his  frieiid  continued  with  a  slight  smile  at  the  stare. 

He  knew  that  Paul  read  books  not  composed  of  paper 
and  printers'  ink. 

"  Yes.  I  met  her  three  days  ago,  and  I  have  just  re- 
ceived a  note  from  her/'  and  Everett  gave  him  a  brief 
account  of  what  had  occurred. 

Paul  mused  a  few  moments  without  reply. 

"  My  friend/'  he  said  at  last,  "  experience  is  multiply- 
ing for  you  according  to  the  law  of  growth.  You  are 
being  tried  and  proved.  Look  steadily  to  the  god 
within.  Prepare  his  way  before  him  and  the  rest  is 
sure.  I  could  tell  you  something  of  the  future,  but  it 
is  better  that  you  should  meet  it  as  it  comes.  I  am  go- 
ing away  for  a  time  and  have  come  to  say  good-by." 

"  Going  away ! "  exclaimed  Everett  with  almost  a 
sinking  at  his  heart.  He  had  not  realized  how  much 
he  depended  upon  his  friend.  "I  hope  it  is  not  for 
long." 

"  I  cannot  say.  I  may  be  away  for  some  weeks.  But 
before  I  go  tell  me  of  the  result  to  yourself  of  this 
meeting.  Do  you  regret  it  ? " 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  I  do.  I  am  glad  to  know  that 
she  is  happy  and  prosperous.  She  bears  every  appear- 
ance of  being  well  cared  for  and  to  lack  nothing.  She 
must  have  a  kind  husband,  and  she  is  very  beautiful." 

"Do  you  think  she  would  wish  to  know  of  the 
child?" 

"  Oh  no ! "  replied  Everett  quickly.  "  I  am  sure  she 
would  not.  I  have  made-up  my  mind  to  be  silent  re- 
garding him." 

"  That  is  well.    Do  you  know,  Everett,  that  senti- 


131 


ment  is  changing  toward  you — that  people  are  learn- 
ing to  admire  and  value  you  in  spite  of  what  they  have 
termed  your  Quixotic  nonsense?"  and  Paul  looked  at 
him  inquiringly. 

"  You  may  be  right  as  to  the  change.  I  had  hardly 
thought  of  it.  One  has  his  life  to  live  as  best  he  can, 
whatever  the  outside  view  of  it." 

"Yes.  One  has  only  to  keep  his  mental  eye  fixed 
steadfastly  on  the  highest,  noblest,  and  best,  to,  in  time, 
induce  others  to  see  it  also.  The  mental  currents  we 
set  up  bear  others  in  their  direction.  People  are  learn- 
ing to  discern.  Your  efforts  have  not  been  altogether 
in  vain  for  them,  while  rich  for  yourself  in  result.  The 
good  we  strive  for  always  has  double  effect:  what  it 
brings  to  us  and  what  it  bestows  on  others.  I  think 
you  may  soon  be  active  in  prominent  positions  here  if 
you  choose.  One  of  the  officers  of  the  'Association 
for  Mutual  Helpfulness  and  Improvement'  asked  me 
the  other  day  if  I  thought  you  would  accept  the  presi- 
dency were  it  offered  you." 

Everett  looked  surprised.  "  I !  President !  Why, 
I  thought  Miss  Hartwell  filled  that  office." 

"  She  has  been  twice  elected  and  was  offered  the 
nomination  for  the  third  time.  But  she  does  not  wish 
it.  She  is  throwing  all  her  energy  at  present  into  her 
recently  organized  '  Woman's  Higher  Thought  League.' 
She  has  set  her  heart  on  bringing  women  out  of  what 
she  terms  the  'religious  bondage,  instituted  by  that 
self-styled  apostle  who  allowed  his  prejudice  to  foster 
his  ignorance  of  the  nature  of  woman,  her  capabilities 
and  necessities.'" 

"Will  she  succeed,  do  you  think?" 


132 


"  If  she  has  something  really  better  to  give  them  in 
place  of  what  she  takes  away,  and  if — she  is  the  woman 
to  give  it." 

"  You  have  no  doubt  of  her  ability  ? " 

"  No.     Only  of  her  quality." 

Everett  looked  at  Paul  silently  for  a  moment. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  he  asked  finally. 

"  A  certain  kind  of  woman  is  to  be  the  mother  of  a 
new  world,  a  new  race,  a  new  religion ;  a  world  without 
sin,  a  race  without  guile,  a  religion  without  bigotry 
and  intolerance ;  the  world,  race,  and  religion  of  the 
spirit,  not  of  the  letter,  partaking  of  her  pure  virginity, 
sustained  by  her  humanity,  vivified  by  her  divinity." 

The  intensity  of  Paul's  face  and  voice  vibrated  a  re- 
sponsive chord  in  himself  as  Everett  looked  at  him. 
Sometimes  he  understood  his  friend's  utterances  but 
vaguely,  but  he  felt  him  to  be  a  prophet — to  be  filled 
with  the  spirit  of  prophecy. 

"  Not  the  woman  wandering  in  the  wilderness,  much 
as  she  may  witness  overthrown,  but  the  woman  who  is 
'  visited  by  the  Lord/  is  to  lead  mankind  out  of  bond- 
age. Intellectual  freedom  is  sweet,  and  vast  in  its  pros- 
pects to  those  who  have  long  been  denied  it ;  but  it  is 
abject  slavery  compared  to  spiritual  illumination  and 
the  power  that  goes  with  it.  Miriam  Hartwell,  though 
an  intellectual  giant,  is  spiritually  dead.  With  her  as 
leader  the  people  will  not  journey.  They  will  wander 
in  the  wilderness  'till  the  men  of  war  have  perished 
from  among  the  people.'  Redemption  comes  through 
the  woman,  but  she  must  be  the  priestess  rather  than 
the  warrior,  winning  her  cause  first  by  what  she  is, 
afterward  by  what  she  does." 


133 


Paul  did  not  seem  to  be  talking  to  Everett,  but  to 
have  forgotten  that  he  was  there  and  to  be  thinking 
aloud. 

"I  see  the  coming  woman,  the  woman  clothed  with 
the  sun.  In  her  right  hand  is  power,  in  her  left  hand 
peace.  She  is  shod  with  wisdom  and  crowned  with 
love.  She  is  masculine  in  her  dignity  and  force,  fem- 
inine in  her  gentleness  and  patience.  She  is  all-con- 
quering in  her  power,  all-winning  in  her  love.  She  is 
neither  the  subject  nor  the  competitor  of  man.  She  is 
beside  him  as  his  comrade,  before  him  as  his  shield, 
above  him  as  his  ideal,  around  him  as  the  divine  virgin 
of  whom  he  is  to  be  reborn.  She  holds  witliin  her  the 
divine  instead  of  the  sensuous  conception  of  man.  As 
woman  she  conceives,  as  wife  she  brings  forth,  as 
mother  she  protects,  as  leader  she  defends,  as  priestess 
she  exalts.  'In  her  name  shall  all  the  nations  of  the 
earth  be  blessed.' " 

Paul's  voice  ceased,  and  swiftly  before  Everett's  vision 
passed  the  scene  of  the  previous  hour — the  wonderful 
city,  the  God-like  men,  the  woman  of  light,  who  was  its 
sun. 

Paul  resumed :  "  To  come  to  the  actual,  the  world  is 
agitated  to-day  as  it  has  not  been  for  years.  New  ad- 
justments of  old  conditions,  growing  out  of  old  rela- 
tions, are  being  compelled  on  every  hand.  Progress  is 
the  watchword.  The  pendulum  is  swinging  from  the 
extreme  of  conservatism  to  the  extreme  of  radicalism. 
The  time  has  produced  its  type.  Woman  has  sprung 
to  the  front  with  an  energy  and  a  purpose  the  more  in- 
tense for  being  held  so  long  in  check.  She  is  threat- 
ened with  a  danger  which  always  attends  reaction. 


134 


In  the  development  of  her  intellectual  she  is  losing 
sight  of  her  spiritual  nature.  She  is  growing  brilliant 
where  she  should  be  luminous.  She  is  hardening  in- 
stead of  expanding.  She  is  drawing  into  herself  in- 
stead of  sending  forth  from  herself.  She  is  losing 
sight  of  an  end  in  the  means.  She  is  turning  a  deaf 
ear  to  one  side  of  her  nature  and  with  a  strong  hand 
she  is  silencing  it.  She  is  killing  aspiration  with  am- 
bition. She  has  given  religion  for  humanitarianism. 
Self-deceived,  she  has  exchanged  sentiment  for  reputa- 
tion, determined  to  win  fame.  Believing  she  is  work- 
ing for  others,  she  is  working  for  herself.  Intending 
to  live  for  all,  she  is  living  for  one.  Compelling  ad- 
miration, she  is  losing  her  ministration.  Aiming  for 
the  high,  she  is  falling  below  the  most  high.  Seeing 
the  fallacies  of  what  has  been  called  love,  she  is  becom- 
ing blind  to  the  real.  Hail !  the  woman  of  the  nine- 
teenth century.  All  hail!  the  woman  who  is  yet  to 
come." 

Paul  rose  as  he  ceased.  "  You  will  say  as  you  used 
to,  Everett,  that  I  have  been  '  sermonizing '  again.  But 
you  will  be  spared  for  a  time.  Good-by." 

"  Good-by,  Paul,"  replied  Everett  as  he  placed  both 
hands  lovingly  on  the  shoulders  so  far  below  him  and 
looked  into  the  wonderful  eyes.  "  I  wish  I  were  not  to 
be  spared.  Peace  abide  with  you,  and  may  you  be  the 
tower  of  strength  for  some  other  one  that  you  have 
been  to  me." 

"  And  with  you  be  peace,"  said  Paul  gently. 

A  moment's  silence  and  the  door  closed  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AFTER  a  short  stay  at  the  sea-shore,  where  the  ocean 
breezes,  together  with  her  husband's  company,  brought 
a  little  color  to  Emma's  cheeks,  they  had  gone  to  a 
quiet  country  village  where  board  was  to  be  had  at  a 
merely  nominal  sum,  and  where  Walter  settled  himself 
as  for  an  indefinite  stay,  although  newspapers  and  like 
necessities  for  a  business  man  in  the  city  were  infre- 
quent. 

She  wondered  sometimes,  vaguely,  how  he  could 
adapt  himself  so  readily  to  circumstances,  only  to  as- 
sure herself  with  a  throb  of  wifely  pride  and  gratitude 
that  it  was  for  her  sake  he  did  it.  He  was  more  de- 
voted to  her  than  he  had  been  before  the  baby  came, 
more  thoughtful  of  her  wishes  and  feelings.  He  seemed 
anxious  to  spare  her  all  exertion,  did  not  encourage 
even  the  short  excursions  to  neighboring  places  which 
she  proposed,  but  reminded  her  constant!}1"  that  she 
must  husband  her  slowly  returning  strength,  and  had 
better  remain  quietly  where  they  were. 

He  went  away  frequently  for  two  or  three  days  at  a 
time  on  the  plea  of  " business" — that  dreadful  "busi- 
ness," which  of  course  had  to  be  attended  to,  but  which 
deprived  her  of  so  much ;  for  when  he  was  away  she 
felt  as  if  she  had  dropped  entirely  out  of  the  world. 
She  saw  no  one  but  strangers,  heard  nothing  of  what 

135 


136 


was  going  on  elsewhere.  When  he  was  with  her  she 
did  not  mind.  He  was  her  all.  She  could  have  been 
content  with  him  on  a  desert  island. 

At  times  he  was  much  preoccupied  and  seemed  anx- 
ious— of  course  about  her;  and  when  she  would  assure 
him  that  she  was  very  well  and  improving  all  the  time, 
he  would  rally  for  a  while.  Sometimes  when  he  re- 
turned after  an  absence  he  would  be  almost  hilarious, 
and  at  others  he  seemed  tired  out,  as  if  he  had  been 
working  too  hard.  She  made  every  effort  to  accommo- 
date herself  to  his  moods,  for  she  had  found  that  vfcth 
all  his  love  for  her — for,  of  course,  he  loved  her  de- 
votedly :  he  told  her  so  frequently — he  would  blaze  into 
a  sudden  anger  when  she  questioned  him  too  much 
that  frightened  her. 

Once  he  had  brought  her  papers  to  sign,  and  had 
seemed  very  impatient  when  she  did  not  do  it  imme- 
diately, assuring  her  it  was  only  a  matter  of  form 
necessary  for  him  in  the  transaction  of  some  of  his 
business.  She  felt  as  if  she  ought  to  understand  better 
what  it  was  for,  but  wrote  her  name  obediently  in  the 
place  he  pointed  out.  He  had  kissed  and  petted  her 
afterward  and  called  her  "  good  girl,"  and  she  had  been 
very  happy. 

If  only  he  would  be  like  that  all  the  time !  Of 
course  he  knew  what  he  was  about,  she  assured  herself 
frequently — for  there  was  an  anxious  feeling  at  her 
heart ;  a  feeling  without  reason,  for  her  husband  knew 
about  everything  better  than  she  did.  A  sorry  mess 
she  would  be  likely  to  make  of  business.  She  won- 
dered sometimes  that  he  seemed  so  frequently  short  of 
money,  for  their  expenses  were  very  light  and  he  was 


137 


receiving  the  rent  of  their  home  in  Benton  in  addition 
to  the  profits  of  his  business. 

But  he  always  explained.  When  he  did  not  return 
at  the  time  he  had  told  her  he  would  come  back,  he 
always  had  a  good  reason,  the  best  of  reasons.  And 
when  he  had  explained  to  her  she  was  always  so  sdt'- 
condemned  because  she  had  felt  the  least  little  bit  of 
resentment  at  his  delay.  When  she  could  see  no  possi- 
ble excuse  he  always  had  one,  so  plain  and  reasonable 
— after  he  had  explained — she  wondered  why  she  had 
not  thought  of  it,  and  vowed  to  herself  that  never 
again — no,  never — would  she  allow  such  feelings ;  not 
the  smallest  shadow  of  a  doubt  but  that  he  was  every- 
thing her  husband  should  be. 

One  afternoon  on  waking  from  a  nap  she  heard 
voices  down-stairs,  her  husband's  and  another  she  did 
not  recognize.  She  was  preparing  to  go  below  when 
she  heard  the  strange  voice  raised  in  loud  threatening 
tones.  She  could  not  understand  what  was  said,  but 
the  tone  frightened  her.  She  could  not  move  for  a 
moment  and  when  she  did  go  down  her  husband  was 
standing  before  the  door  and  looking  down  the  road 
with  a  scowl  on  his  face,  a  clenched  fist,  and  muttering 
something  which  made  her  catch  her  breath. 

"  O  Walter !     What  is  it  ? "  she  said. 

He  controlled  himself,  seemingly  with  a  great  effort, 
and  laughed — his  eyes  did  not  laugh — as  he  replied  : 

"Oh,  nothing!  That  fool  seems  to  think  that  be- 
cause a  man  is  a  lawyer  he  can  accomplish  impossibili- 
ties on  demand.  I  have  charge  of  a  matter  he  wants 
settled,  and  it  cannot  be  done  just  yet." 

As  she  looked  in  the  same  direction  she  saw  a  man 


138 


who  seemed  familiar.  Yes,  she  had  seen  him  before. 
It  was  the  one  who  had  insisted  on  seeing  Walter  be- 
fore he  was  up  in  the  morning,  and  who  had  been  at 
their  home  frequently  since. 

"Why!  there  is  that— » 

Her  husband  cut  her  short  as  he  turned  into  the 
house  and  drew  her  after  him. 

"That  is  no  one  you  know/'  he  said.  "Did  you 
have  a  good  nap  ?  How  long  have  you  been  awake  ? " 

When  she  told  him  that  she  had  heard  their  voices 
but  could  not  understand  what  was  said,  he  seemed 
relieved,  and  explained,  as  he  always  did,  so  satisfac- 
torily, she  was  surprised  and  annoyed  that  the  anxious 
and  foreboding  feeling  at  her  heart  would  not  leave 
her. 

"You  see,  Emma,  a  fellow  who  knows  nothing 
about  the  processes  of  law,  the  complications  and  de- 
lays, gets  wrathy  over  it  all  and  thinks  his  lawyer  is  to 
blame.  This  chap,  now,  threatened  me  with  all  sorts 
of  consequences  if  I  did  not  hasten  matters  to  his  sat- 
isfaction." 

Emma  could  not  help  but  feel  it  a  little  queer  that 
one  of  her  husband's  clients  should  follow  him  to  such 
an  out-of-the-way  place,  but  she  dismissed  the  feeling. 

"I  do  not  think  this  place  agrees  with  you  any 
longer,"  he  said.  "You  do  not  look  as  well  as  you 
did." 

Emma  assured  him  she  was  doing  very  well  indeed ; 
but  he  insisted  he  was  right,  and  was  going  to  look  for 
another  one.  She  proposed  going  back  to  Benton,  but 
to  this  he  would  not  listen. 

For  all  Emma's  determined  confidence  in  her  hus- 


139 


band  and  in  his  judgment,  she  began  to  long  exceed- 
ingly for  her  own  home.  She  rarely  heard  from  Ben- 
ton.  She  had  received  one  letter  from  Sarah,  which 
her  husband  had  given  her  with  an  apology  for  having 
opened  and  read  it  first,  as  he  knew  she  would  not 
mind.  She  was  very  lonesome  sometimes,  but  of  course 
Walter  knew  what  was  best. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

IT  was  as  Paul  had  said.  Since  Everett  had  sent  his 
son  away  to  school  a  decided  change  had  taken  place 
in  the  conduct  of  the  good  citizens  of  Benton  toward 
him.  The  illegitimacy  of  the  relation  between  them 
was  not  so  prominent  and  its  remembrance  was  not 
so  alive.  His  real  worth,  his  straightforward  honesty, 
were  beginning  to  be  appreciated.  His  reserve  and 
dignity  had  compelled  a  show  of  respect,  which  his  true 
merit,  as  it  came  to  be  known,  made  sincere. 

There  was  no  conflict  of  opinion  as  to  his  intelli- 
gence and  ability.  All  agreed  that  his  word  was  to  be 
depended  upon  absolutely ;  and  he  had  proved  that  he 
was  not  afraid  to  do  what  he  believed  to  be  right, 
neither  would  he  shirk  the  consequences  of  his  doing. 

People  who  had  formerly  condemned  him  said,  "It 
was  very  noble  in  him  to  do  as  he  did ; "  and  some  of 
those  who  had  inveighed  against  his  immorality  ad- 
mitted that  he  had  done  what  he  could  to  repair  the 
wrong ;  especially  as  the  strictest  watchfulness  failed 
to  reveal  further  wrong-doing,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
disclosed  many  an  effort  on  his  part  with  young  men 
to  prevent  them  from  making  his  former  mistakes. 

A  committee  from  the  "Association  for  Mutual  Help- 
fulness and  Improvement "  had  waited  on  him  with  the 

140 


141 


request  that  he  would  allow  himself  to  be  nominated 
for  the  presidency,  assuring  him  that  he  was  sure  of 
election  since  it  had  come  to  be  known  that  many  of 
their  most  valued  members,  young  men,  were  his  de- 
voted adherents. 

Realizing  the  value  of  a  warning  word  at  the  right 
time  as  to  the  mistake  of  "  sowing  wild  oats,"  which  is 
fostered  by  general  opinion  of  the  difference  in  nature 
between  young  men  and  young  women,  in  a  very  quiet 
way  he  had  organized  a  class  of  "Seekers  for  Self- 
Knowledge,"  to  which  he  had  given  of  his  time  and 
means  without  stint.  He  took  pains  to  find  and  pro- 
cure for  them  the  best  instructors  from  the  physio- 
logical basis,  who  exploded  the  old  view  of  "physical 
necessity  "  and  showed  them,  instead,  "  the  transforma- 
tion of  energy."  He  gave  ethical  culture  due  emphasis, 
made  them  acquainted  with  the  best  philosophies  an- 
cient and  modern,  and  left  them  to  form  their  own 
religious  opinions  without  any  bias  from  himself. 

He  held  before  them  the  motto  of  his  own  life — 
"  Live  to  your  best " — and  helped  them  in  every  way 
in  his  power  to  carry  it  out.  Many  a  mother  agoniz- 
ing over  the  recklessness  of  her  son  and  its  dreaded 
consequences  found,  when  her  prayers  and  entreaties 
supported  by  her  clergyman  were  of  no  avail,  that 
she  had  reason  to  thank  him  for  the  timely  check  her 
boy's  career  had  received.  The  declared  but  not  yet 
experienced  "  wrath  of  God  "  often  fails  where  a  living, 
human,  "I  know, for  I  have  proved,"  succeeds. 

After  careful  deliberation  he  had  expressed  his  will- 
ingness to  serve  in  the  office  and  had  been  elected. 
The  Society  soon  showed  evidences  of  a  new  vitality. 


142 


Applications  for  membership  rapidly  increased,  and  its 
fame  became  more  than  local.  What  had  threatened 
to  be  a  bone  of  contention  was  successfully  removed. 
He  had  frankly  stated  his  wish  that  "  good  moral  char- 
acter "  determined  by  a  censorship  in  the  organization 
should  not  be  the  standard  of  admission,  arguing  that 
those  who  were  most  in  need  of  help  were  the  ones  who 
should  have  it,  and  that  all  who  were  led  by  the  name 
and  work  done  by  the  Society  to  seek  admission  should 
have  the  opportunity  they  sought;  that  those  who 
should  come  might  be  made  better  and  those  who  were 
in  need  not  be  made  worse.  He  begged  them  to  re- 
member that  this  was  not  to  be  a  mutual  admiration 
society,  but  an  instrument  for  practical  service  which 
could  be  used  on  any  and  all  lines  for  the  betterment 
of  mankind.  It  was  not  to  be  exclusive,  but  inclusive, 
and  of  any  and  all  material;  for  there  was  none  but 
could  be  utilized  for  some  part  of  the  great  whole. 

After  an  animated  discussion  and  some  opposition 
from  a  few  mistaken,  but  well-meaning,  sticklers  for 
"  respectability,"  his  view  had  carried  the  day.  He 
greatly  enjoyed  the  abundant  work  and  opportunities 
the  position  afforded  him.  He  had  stored  up  energy 
and  vigor  in  his  period  of  comparative  seclusion.  He 
was  thankful  from  the  depths  of  his  heart  for  every 
battle  he  had  fought  in  the  past,  for  he  knew  his  was 
no  exceptional  experience  and  he  was  able  to  feel  the 
needs  of  others  even  before  they  expressed  them. 
Where  they  stood  bewildered  and  reckless,  he  had 
been,  and  he  could  point  them  the  way  out.  As  Paul 
had  done  for  him,  he  showed  them  the  god  in  them- 
selves and  left  them  to  find  the  other.  He  showed 


143 


them  their  inherent,  if  undeveloped,  goodness,  and  left 
them  to  deal  with  their  wickedness. 

Sarah  Hartwell  was  one  who  seconded  all  his  efforts. 
He  found  that  for  her  explanation  was  unnecessary. 
She  always  understood ;  and  he  was  surprised  to  find, 
as  he  came  more  intimately  in  contact  with  people,  of 
what  a  force  she  was  possessed,  what  a  power  she 
wielded.  Every  one  admired  Miriam,  but  they  stood 
in  awe  of  her.  Sarah  they  loved.  They  turned  to  her 
as  naturally  as  a  child  to  its  mother — children,  many  of 
them,  in  their  trust  and  reverence,  their  need  of  help 
and  confidence  of  getting  it. 

He  saw  her  under  all  circumstances,  some  of  them 
very  trying  ones ;  and  never  did  he  see  her  lose  patience 
or  relax  her  endeavor  to  help.  Now  and  then  he  had 
been  surprised  by  an  unexpected  sternness  when  she 
was  dealing  with  some  feather-bed  individuals  in  whom 
she  was  endeavoring  to  arouse  the  impulse  to  stand  on 
their  own  feet.  She  was  usually  gentleness  itself,  which 
made  her  masculine  inflexibility  the  more  unexpected. 
But  it  always  appeared  when  it  was  needed. 

When  he  attempted  to  analyze  her  nature  and  char- 
acter he  found  himself  brought  to  the  conclusion  that  it 
was  an  unusually  round,  evenly  developed  one.  While 
it  presented  no  aggressive  projections  it  seemed  forti- 
fied at  every  point. 

Miriam  had  softened  toward  him.  For  a  time  after 
she  refused  him  he  could  not  see  her  even  from  a  dis- 
tance without  a  pang  at  his  heart.  More  than  he  real- 
ized he  had  built  hopes  of  a  future  with  her  as  a  com- 
panion, and  his  loneliness  seemed  the  more  insupport- 
able when  his  dream  was  dissipated.  He  had  solace, 


144 


however,  in  his  work  for  others.  He  felt  their  disap. 
pointments  and  forgot  his  own.  He  was  glad  to  see  a 
more  kindly  expression  in  her  eye  in  place  of  the  cold 
disapproval  which  had  hurt  him  so  sorely.  She  even 
sought  his  advice  and  commendation  of  projects  of  her 
own — a  new  departure  for  her  who  had  always  been 
sufficient  unto  herself. 

He  had  attended  a  reception  which  had  been  given 
her  by  the  Society  on  her  retiring  from  the  presidency, 
and  he  thought  he  had  never  seen  her  more  regal  than 
on  that  evening  when  she  stood  receiving  the  compli- 
ments and  laudation  of  the  admiring  throng.  Every 
one  pressed  about  her  for  at  least  a  look  or  a  word. 
Many  had  come  a  long  distance  to  honor  "  the  most 
remarkable  woman  of  the  day."  The  cup  her  ambition 
and  determination  had  poured  for  her  was  full  and 
running  over.  At  thirty-three  she  had  won  fame  and 
power  and  proved  what  was  possible  for  a  woman.  She 
was  a  living  refutation  of  the  assertion  that  woman  is 
man's  intellectual  inferior. 

He  had  been  standing  in  a  quiet  corner  where  he 
could  gaze  upon  her  unobserved,  when  he  became 
aware  of  that  subdued  murmur  about  him  which 
marks  a  general  observation  of  one  in  particular,  and 
some  one  crossed  his  line  of  vision.  The  ejaculations 
"  How  lovely  !  "  "  Isn't  she  beautiful  ?  "  caused  him  to 
look  more  closely.  It  was  Helen  who  was  making  her 
way  toward  Miriam.  Though  momentarily  startled  he 
was  not  surprised.  He  had  felt  that  he  should  meet 
her  again  and  he  had  been  schooling  himself  to  be  able 
to  carry  out  her  wish  and  f  ulfill  his  promise  to  meet  her 
as  if  she  were  a  stranger. 


145 


He  moved  to  another  part  of  the  room  and  made  no 
attempt  to  observe  her.  But  later  in  the  evening  as 
he  stood  conversing  with  some  one  he  felt  a  slight  tug 
at  his  coat-sleeve.  Looking  around  he  saw  Helen,  the 
fringe  of  whose  dress  had  caught  on  a  button,  accom- 
panied by  Sarah  Hartwell,  who  performed  the  ceremony 
of  introduction  as  she  helped  Mrs.  Jasper  Cunningham 
to  disentangle  it.  The  incident  made  the  meeting  less 
formal  than  it  would  otherwise  have  been  and  smoothed 
the  way  for  him. 

"  Mrs.  Jasper  Cunningham  ! "  he  exclaimed  to  him- 
self when  they  had  moved  on.  "Can  she  really  be 
Helen?"  He  had  heard  of  the  rich  and  beautiful 
widow  who  had  taken  Beuton  by  storm  and  wondered 
that  they  had  not  met  before.  She  was  by  all  odds  the 
most  beautiful  woman  in  the  room,  the  most  beautiful 
he  had  ever  seen,  he  decided.  A  little  overdressed 
perhaps,  at  least  rather  too  many  jewels  according  to 
his  critical  taste.  They  became  her  exceedingly,  how- 
ever, and  his  thoughts  went  back  to  that  fair  summer- 
time as  he  remembered  her  delight  when  he  had  given 
her  a  ruby  scarf-pin  she  had  coveted.  He  had  won- 
dered then  that  her  liking  for  gems  could  be  such  a 
passion. 

A  few  days  afterward  she  had  sent  him  an  invitation 
to  a  dinner-party,  which  he  had  declined,  as  that  even- 
ing belonged  to  his  class  of  young  men,  an  engagement 
with  which  he  allowed  nothing  to  interfere.  Then  she 
had  sent  him  a  note  requesting  him  to  give  her  his 
first  free  evening  as  she  wished  to  consult  him  on  mat- 
ters concerning  the  Society  he  represented.  He  had 
gone  to  her  and  she  had  been  very  sweet  and  gentle, 


146 


receiving  him  as  an  old  friend  but  without  the  slightest 
reference  to  the  past.  She  appeared  to  him  as  if  she 
had  really — as  she  had  said — let  it  go.  She  treated  him 
with  winning  deference,  a  silent  appeal  in  her  beautiful 
eyes  which  touched  him.  She  spoke  of  her  loneliness 
since  her  husband's  death  and  her  need  of  some  in- 
terest and  occupation  which  should  take  her  out  of 
herself. 

"  I  fear  I  have  been  rather  a  useless  individual/7  she 
said,  "  and  I  should  like  to  begin  to  make  amends  for 
my  negligence." 

She  asked  for  detailed  information  as  to  the  aims 
and  work  of  the  Society  and  ended  by  proposing  her- 
self as  a  member  willing  to  furnish  substantial  finan- 
cial assistance.  She  carried  out  her  plan  and  became 
very  zealous  in  her  championship  of  the  cause,  and  the 
members  generally  became  quite  devoted  to  "that 
lovely  Mrs.  Cunningham." 

Everett  was  thrown  with  her  continually  and  it  was 
not  long  before  he  found  himself  visiting  at  her  house 
as  a  familiar  friend.  Throwing  himself  heart  and  soul 
into  his  work,  the  past  faded  more  and  more  till  at 
times  he  forgot  it  utterly  and  knew  only  that  while  he 
held  within  the  secret  recesses  of  his  being  his  own 
ideal,  he  was  laboring  with  heart  and  hand,  with  brain 
and  pen,  to  help  others  form  and  achieve  one  that 
should  ennoble  and  uplift  them. 

He  was  continually  devising  ways  and  means  for 
practical  as  well  as  intellectual  effort ;  for  the  applica- 
tion of  carefully  considered  theories.  He  studied  the 
individual  bias  and  tendency  of  the  members  and  how 
to  make  the  ability  of  each  operate  for  the  good  of  the 


147 


whole.  No  one  was  so  insignificant  but  that  sooner  or 
latfi-  lit-  was  startled  out  of  his  self -depreciation  by 
finding  that  he  could  do  something  for  some  one  and 
that  he  was  necessary  for  what  it  was  desired  to  ac- 
complish. 

But  with  all  his  efforts  in  the  without  he  never  lost 
sight  of  the  all-important  necessity,  his  own  mental 
attitude,  for  he  knew  that  here  lay  the  secret  of  power. 
He  knew  that  he  could  not  think  failure  and  achieve 
success,  that  this  law  of  the  individual  was  the  law  for 
the  mass.  Having  a  noble  aim  and  a  pure  motive,  this 
mental  attitude  made  him  a  center  of  force  for  the 
Society,  and  made  it  a  center  of  force  in  the  city. 

Such  was  the  growing  fame  of  the  organization  that 
delegates  from  others  in  all  parts  of  the  country  came 
to  observe  its  methods  and — if  they  could — learn  the 
secret  of  its  success ;  and  frequent  propositions  were 
made  to  organize  subsidiary  societies  in  other  places 
which  should  remain  in  vital  connection  with  the  par- 
ent-head. 

One  night  after  a  meeting  which  both  had  attended, 
Sarah  observed  that  her  sister  was  more  than  usually 
thoughtful.  Miriam  had  thrown  herself  into  an  easy- 
chair  instead  of  preparing  for  bed,  and  for  some  mo- 
ments had  neither  moved  nor  spoken.  As  Sarah 
passed  frequently  the  open  door  between  their  rooms 
she  looked  tenderly  and  wistfully  at  her  sister,  but  she 
knew  better  than  to  interrupt  her  meditations  with  a 
remark. 

"  Why  is  it  that  with  all  my  efforts  I  cannot  rouse 
women  from  their  apathy — cannot  make  them  see  the 
narrowness  and  bigotry  of  their  religious  views  ? "  she 


148 


burst  out  at  last.  "  They  are  not  entirely  content  with, 
them,  I  can  see  they  are  not.  Their  hearts  are  bigger 
than  their  creeds.  "Women  who  are  fearless  in  their 
efforts  in  philanthropic  and  ethical  work  simply  will 
not  break  away  from  their  churches,  but  continue  to 
uphold  them  in  spite  of  their  palpable  defects.  I  can- 
not understand  it." 

And  the  deep  lines  between  her  brows  testified  to 
the  knotty  nature  of  the  problem. 

"  I  think  it  is  because  of  what  the  church  represents 
to  women,"  said  Sarah  gently.  "  They  cannot  do  with- 
out religion." 

"Religion!"  repeated  Miriam  impatiently.  "What 
better  religion  can  any  one  want  than  facts?  The 
magnificent  discoveries  of  this  age  have  disproved  and 
rendered  worthless  the  traditions  so  long  cherished  as 
divine  truths.  I  have  no  patience  with  that  obstinacy 
which  places  manifest  impossibilities  before  the  demon- 
strations of  science." 

"  Deep  down  in  the  heart  of  many  women,  Miriam, 
there  is  a  discrimination  between  ecclesiasticism  and 
religion ;  one  which  is  more  feeling  than  reason.  The 
first  they  will  sometime  let  go,  but  the  last  never.  It 
is  a  part  of  their  inmost  selves,  it  is  their  breath  of  life. 
It  is  not  formulated,  it  bears  no  label,  it  is  not  for  the 
outside  world,  to  be  analyzed  and  inspected;  It  is  for 
themselves.  It  is  their  connection  with  the  infinite, 
that  hidden  channel  through  which  flows  all  that  re- 
deems and  purifies  life.  They  may  believe  that  God  is 
an  incomprehensible  One  containing  three  persons,  that 
the  first  man  God  made  was  out  of  the  dust,  fallen,  and 
redeemed  by  the  blood  of  God's  own  Son.  But  this  is 


149 


their  belief,  not  their  religion.  They  may  not  under- 
stand their  belief,  may  accept  it  blindly;  but  they  do 
kn<nr  their  religion.  Woman's  intuition  is  sure  and 
steadfast,  and  the  discoveries  of  modern  science  will 
never  overthrow  it.  On  the  contrary,  it  will  yet  prove 
to  be  the  successful  mediator  between  what,  to  you, 
seem  opposites." 

Sarah  spoke  with  a  quiet  intensity  and  even  author- 
ity which  surprised  her  sister,  who  for  the  moment 
made  no  reply. 

"  Everett  Long  is  an  atheist,"  she  said  finally,  "  and 
yet  he  is  having  more  success  with  that  society  than  I 
am  with  mine." 

"  No,  he  is  not ! "  burst  from  Sarah  with  a  sudden- 
ness which  made  Miriam  start.  "He  is  a  religious 
man.  He  is  not  a  creedist,  but  he  worships  the  divine 
wherever  he  finds  it  manifest.  He  is  devout  in  every 
fibre  of  Ids  being  and  responds  to  the  least  touch  of 
Deity  like  a  perfectly  attuned  instrument.  You  mis- 
take if  yon  think  he  has  no  God.  He  may  not  accept 
a  doctrinal  Deity,  or  a  wrathful  Jehovah,  for  he  has 
risen  above  them.  With  the  woman  in  him  he  has  felt 
after  God  and  found  what  he  sought." 

Miriam  gazed  fixedly  at  Sarah  as  she  stood  before 
her  erect  and  tense  as  she  had  never  seen  her,  her  eyes 
brilliant  and  far-seeing.  They  seemed  to  have  changed 
places  for  the  moment.  Sarah  turned  and  went  back 
to  her  own  room.  After  a  little  Miriam  rose  and  closed 
the  door. 

"  How  she  turned  upon  me  ! "  she  mused.  "  I  did  not 
think  she  could  be  so  aggressive.  But  she  always  was 
queer.  It  is  surprising  what  a  change  has  taken  place 


150 


with  Everett  Long,  both  in  himself  and  in  people's 
attitude  toward  him.  He  looks  so  noble  and  com- 
manding, his  very  appearance  impresses  an  audience 
before  he  has  opened  his  mouth.  And  his  executive 
ability  is  something  marvelous.  He  holds  every  thread 
of  that  great  organization  in  one  hand  and  directs  it  as 
he  will.  He  does  not  seem  to  know  how  much  power 
he  wields.  I  wonder — if — I  made  a  mistake  ? " 


CHAPTER  XV. 

HELEN  CUNNINGHAM  was  very  well  satisfied  with  her- 
self. She  was  really  doing  something  for  others  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life.  She  lost  sight  of  the  motive 
which  had  actuated  her,  in  the  fact.  She  felt  very 
good  and  self-denying  as  she  looked  over  her  quarterly 
expense  account  and  saw  how  much  money  she  had 
given  away.  Not  that  any  need  of  her  own  had  been 
unsupplied,  but  then,  she  could  have  had  so  much 
with  it. 

She  really  enjoyed  contact  with  people  so  different 
from  those  to  whom  she  had  been  accustomed.  Some 
of  them  were  dreadfully  in  earnest,  so  possessed  with 
an  idea  that  they  seemed  to  be  utterly  indifferent  to  the 
luxuries  of  life.  How  they  did  work  !  Everett,  even, 
did  not  allow  himself  any  time  whatever  for  his  own 
personal  enjoyment.  He  was  always  so  busy  with  a 
new  plan  to  be  developed,  a  new  effort  to  be  made. 
But  he  seemed  very  glad  of  her  help  and  his  eye  soft- 
ened when  he  looked  at  her. 

She  was  waiting  for  him  now,  expecting  one  of  those 
rare  visits  she  could  induce  him  to  make.  She  was 
losing  none  of  her  beauty.  She  was  an  enchanting 
picture  as  she  sat  in  a  high-backed,  carved  oaken  chair 
which  she  affected,  and  which  threw  her  beautiful  head 
and  perfect  figure  into  bold  relief .  The  sweeping  dra- 

151 


152 


peries  of  her  white  robe  fell  about  the  gold-embroidered 
cushion  on  which  reposed  her  small,  exquisitely  shod 
feet.  Every  line  was  grace  itself.  Carelessly  thrown 
over  the  corner  of  the  chair-back,  as  if  they  had  dropped 
from  above,  was  a  bunch  of  long-stemmed  Catherine  de 
Mermet  roses  which  nestled  on  her  neck  and  over  her 
shoulder  and  arm  with  telling  effect.  None  knew  bet- 
ter than  she  the  power  of  visual  impressions  or  how  to 
gather  and  employ  her  forces  to  this  end. 

The  picture  which  met  his  eye  as  he  came  into  the 
room  was  very  gratifying  to  Everett's  esthetic  sense. 
He  loved  the  beautiful  in  all  its  forms  for  its  own  sake. 
Helen  met  him  with  the  half -entreating,  half -confiding 
manner  which  she  always  wore  for  him  when  no  one 
was  about. 

11  It  is  so  good  of  you  to  come,  Everett.  With  all 
your  busy  life  you  never  forget  your  friends.  Sit  here 
by  me  and  tell  me  of  your  plans." 

Nothing  loath  he  placed  himself  in  the  cushioned 
great  chair  she  had  indicated  and  told  her  of  his  pres- 
ent efforts  to  enlarge  the  scope  of  his  work,  his  views 
and  hopes  for  the  future.  She  listened  to  him  as  he 
talked  with  her  head  lying  against  the  back  of  her 
chair  and  her  face  turned  to  his;  listened  with  an 
apparent  sympathy  and  appreciation  which  were  very 
pleasant  to  him. 

Within  herself  she  was  wondering  at  the  change 
from  the  Everett  she  used  to  know,  this  strong  self- 
sufficient  man  with  the  steady  commanding  eye  and 
yet  the  gentleness  of  a  woman.  He  used  to  be  mirth- 
ful, even  volatile,  ready  to  break  into  a  laugh  at  the 
smallest  provocation.  Now  he  smiled  but  rarely.  He 


153 


was  serious  but  not  solemn.  He  was  filled  with  a 
tremendous  earnestness.  But  when  he  did!  Ah! 
One  of  those  smiles  was  worth  the  study  of  how  to 
bring  it  to  his  face.  He  was,  as  she  said,  "so  good," 
but  she  wanted  him  to  be  something  more  to  her. 

He  had  kept  his  promise  sacredly.  He  had  never 
alluded  by  word  or  look  to  the  past.  He  had  been 
what  she  desired,  her  friend.  He  was  a  new  species 
in  her  experience.  She  had  never  met  his  kind  before. 
She  began  to  wish  that  he  would  speak  of  it,  that  the 
even  kindly  manner  might  be  broken  in  some  way,  even 
if  it  were  by  a  storm. 

"Tell  me  of  your  ' Young  People's  Search-Light 
League,'  Everett.  That  is  an  odd  name  you  have 
chosen  for  it." 

"  I  did  not  choose  it.  They  chose  it  for  themselves," 
he  replied.  "  I  wanted  them  to  form  a  habit  which  I 
feel  will  be  invaluable  to  them  as  they  grow  up ;  the 
habit  of  watching  their  thoughts.  Young  people  natu- 
rally act  on  impulse,  which  they  are  taught  they  should 
curb  and  restrain ;  but  they  are  not  shown  the  value 
and  necessity  of  governing  their  thoughts  as  the  means 
of  ruling  their  impulses.  I  try  to  show  them  the 
wisdom  of  daily  self-examination,  being  their  own  con- 
fessors. They  call  it  '  turning  on  the  search-light.' " 

"  And  do  you  think  one  can  control  his  thoughts  ? " 
she  asked. 

"I  think  we  can  develop  the  power  of  control  of 
them,  if  we  will,"  he  replied.  "Thoughts  are  the 
food  of  the  soul.  Except  we  control  them  we  do  not 
give  it  the  food  best  adapted  to  its  growth  and  devel- 
opment." 


154 


She  sighed  inaudibly  and  made  no  reply.  He  was 
getting  beyond  her  depth. 

"  I  like  boys,"  she  said  finally,  "  and  you  have  some 
wonderfully  bright  little  fellows  in  that  League." 

"  Indeed  they  are,"  he  responded  heartily.  "  Those 
Gordon  boys,  for  instance.  Their  mother  is  so  anxious 
about  their  education.  She  has  been  a  widow  since 
they  were  babies  and  has  struggled  on  single-handed 
and  alone." 

"  How  unevenly  things  are  divided  in  this  world ! " 
she  continued  musingly  as  she  gathered  up  one  of  the 
roses  which  had  fallen  to  her  lap.  "  She  has  the  chil- 
dren and  no  money,  and  I  have  the  means  and  no  chil- 
dren. She  thinks  her  position  a  hard  one  doubtless,  and 
I  think  she  has  a  great  good  fortune  denied  me.  I 
have  always  wished  I  had  children." 

Everett's  heart  gave  a  bound.  He  had  schooled 
himself  so  vigorously  to  silence  as  to  the  past,  that  he 
sometimes  forgot  even  in  her  presence  that  she  was  the 
mother  of  his  son.  He  had  put  himself  in  her  place  so 
thoroughly,  feeling  what  the  knowledge  might  be  to 
her,  the  probable  dismay  and  dread  which  would  over- 
whelm her,  that  he  was  firmly  resolved  she  should  not 
be  made  to  suffer  through  him.  When  he  had  found 
that  she  was  a  widow  and  childless,  he  had  felt,  at 
first,  that  there  was  a  possibility  of  her  recognition 
of  the  child.  But  this  hope,  if  the  thought  had  ever 
been  definite  enough  to  be  a  hope,  dissipated  as  he  re- 
membered what  such  a  recognition  must  mean  to  a 
woman. 

No.  They  were  not  fitted  for  fighting  such  battles. 
They  had  every  reason  to  avoid  them.  Where  a  man 


155 


might  conquer,  were  he  strong  enough,  they  would  be 
overthrown  and  crushed  because  of  the  public  opinion 
which  makes  a  crime  in  the  woman  of  that  which  is  a 
mistake  in  the  man. 

He  had  had  the  curiosity  to  observe  her  in  her  inter- 
course with  children  and  had  never  been  able  to  detect 
any  of  the  "  mothering  "  instinct  in  her.  He  could  not 
help  but  wonder  now — "If  she  knew!  If  she  only 
knew ! " 

"  I  have  thought  sometimes,"  she  went  on,  as  he  did 
not  answer  her,  "  that  I  would  adopt  one.  But  I  have 
been  afraid  to  do  it.  It  would  be  a  great  responsibility." 

She  was  devoured  with  curiosity  about  his  son,  whom 
he  never  mentioned.  Much  as  she  wanted  to  know  of 
the  boy,  she  had  never  dared  to  allude  to  him.  If  he 
would  only  give  her  an  opportunity  by  the  smallest 
reference !  But  no,  he  was  as  silent  as  the  grave.  She 
had  set  her  heart,  however,  on  finding  out  about  him. 
Discreet  questioning  of  others  had  revealed  nothing 
save  that  he  had  been  a  newsboy  there  in  Benton  who 
had  been  hurt  by  a  street-car.  She  wished  she  could 
see  him,  but  was  not  likely  to  as  he  was  in  boarding- 
school. 

"  It  would  be  a  great  responsibility,  but  also  a  great 
pleasure,"  he  replied.  "  So  many  children  do  not  have 
half  a  chance  in  the  world.  Modern  civilization  owes 
them  a  terrible  debt  and  will  be  sure  to  suffer  in  its 
discharge." 

Though  he  answered  quietly,  the  possibilities  stirred 
by  her  words  moved  him  profoundly.  Only  that  day 
he  had  received  a  letter  from  the  principal  of  the  school 
where  his  son  was  placed,  requesting  him  to  remove 


156 


the  boy  as  he  found  his  presence  detrimental  to  the 
others  in  his  charge.  He  had  been  detected  in  theft 
and  after  admonition  had  repeated  the  offense,  stealing 
some  jewelry  belonging  to  the  other  pupils.  His  heart 
had  been  heavy  as  he  read  this  letter.  He  was  willing 
to  do  his  best  for  the  boy,  but  was  his  best  sufficient  ? 
If  the  youth  only  had  a  mother !  He  must  bring  the 
boy  home  and — 

The  hope  he  had  discouraged  sprang  up  again  in  his 
heart.  Could  he  not  bring  them  together  ?  Might  she 
not,  with  this  desire  stirring  in  her,  be  led  to  take  an 
interest  in  the  boy  ?  If  not  for  his  own  sake — perhaps 
— for  the  father's?  For  he  could  not  but  see  that 
Helen  was  very  tender  toward  him,  that  she  courted 
his  opinion  and  deferred  to  his  judgment.  He  had 
sometimes  felt  it  unwise  to  be  much  with  her  alone. 

He  had  determined  to  work  in  the  future,  heart  and 
soul,  for  the  general  good,  and  he  did  not  like  to  find 
aroused  in  him,  as  had  sometimes  happened  in  her 
society,  contradictory  thoughts  and  feelings.  He  had 
felt  afterward  as  if  he  had  dropped  in  some  way  from 
the  plane  on  which  he  wished  to  stand. 

But  she  was  very  beautiful,  very  lovely,  and  very 
winning  now,  as  she  sat  facing  him  with  that  soft  color 
in  her  cheek,  a  wistful  confiding  look  in  her  eye,  and  a 
slight  tremulousness  of  her  sweet  mouth.  This  was  a 
different  Helen  from  the  one  he  had  known.  Might  he 
not  risk  preferring  a  request,  risk  bringing  the  boy  to 
her?  He  felt  a  light  touch  on  his  hand.  Helen  was 
leaning  toward  him  and  had  laid  her  own  on  his. 

"  Could  you — would  you  mind — would  you  let  me 
help  you  with  yours,  Everett  ? " 


157 


His  heart  swelled  with  mingled  emotions  till  it  seemed 
as  if  it  would  burst.  But  he  was  thankful.  This  would 
make  it  easier.  Mother  and  child  would  come  together 
without  any  violation  of  his  pledge.  She  had  taken 
the  initiative. 

He  looked  at  her  with  eyes  kindled  by  his  deeply 
stirred  feelings.  Her  own  were  dewy.  How  irresisti- 
ble she  was,  as  with  her  head  thrown  back  and  face  up- 
raised to  his,  so  very  near  his  own,  her  breath  touched 
him  gently,  the  perfume  of  her  hair  stole  over  him ! 
He  was  back  in  the  long  ago,  when  he  had  held  her 
passionately  in  his  arms  and  shut  out  all  the  world  he 
did  not  find  in  her.  His  pulses  throbbed  violently  as 
he  grasped  her  hand  in  both  his  own  and  moving 
slowly  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  bewitching  face — how 
she  drew  him ! — pressed  a  kiss  full  upon  her  sweet 
curved  lips. 

She  sighed  tremulously  as  with  slowly  closing  eyes 
her  head  fell  back  against  her  chair. 

How  had  it  come  about  ?  Even  in  the  partial  intoxi- 
cation of  that  contact,  he  felt  a  slight  recoil,  a  twinge 
of  self-reproach.  What  was  he  doing  ? 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  into  his.  She  held 
her  arms  toward  him — he  had  dropped  her  hand — 
and  "  Everett ! "  fell  on  his  ear  like  the  soft  summer 
breeze. 

But  he  was  recovering  his  self-control.  With  a 
strong  effort  at  restraint  he  took  her  hands  again  in 
his,  and  his  tone,  a  little  shaken  at  first,  grew  firmer  as 
he  said,  "With  all  my  heart,  Helen,  I  thank  you.  I 
shall  be  more  than  glad  of  your  assistance  with  this 
boy  of  mine  who  has  no — who  has  never  known  a 


158 


mother.  I  mean  to  do  niy  full  duty  by  him,  but  he 
needs  what  I  cannot  give — a  woman's  influence." 

A  shade  passed  over  her  face,  but  he  did  not  see  it. 
Her  tone  was  very  sweet  and  gentle  as  she  replied : 

"  I  will  gladly  do  all  in  my  power  for  him  because  he 
is  yours,  if  for  no  other  reason." 

But  she  continued  to  look  at  him  inquiringly  and  he 
felt  that  it  was  natural  she  should  expect  some  explana- 
tion in  regard  to  him.  But  what  should  he  say  f 

"  I  did  not  know  that  he  was  my  son  till  two  years 
and  a  half  ago.  When  I  found  it  out  it  cost  me  a  great 
struggle  to  do  what  I  recognized  as  my  duty.  He  had 
only  low  associations,  no  opportunities  for  better  ones 
or  for  education.  I  took  him  to  my  home  as  my  ac- 
knowledged son.  Will  you  forgive  me  and  trust  me  if 
I  do  not  tell  you  any  more — now?  Perhaps — some- 
time—  " 

He  waited  for  an  answer  as  he  looked  at  her,  almost 
appealingly,  still  holding  her  hands  in  his  own.  She 
was  disappointed,  but  no  trace  of  her  feeling  appeared 
as  she  said,  "  I  will  trust  you  now  and  always." 

Bending  his  head  he  gently  kissed  her  hands  and  re- 
leased them. 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  Helen." 

As  he  rose  to  his  feet  she  said,  "  I  have  not  yet  told 
you  that  I  have  made  it  possible  to  remain  in  Benton 
as  long  as  I  wish.  I  have  bought  this  house." 

"  Bought  this  house  !  "  he  repeated  in  surprise.  "  I 
did  not  know  it  was  for  sale.  But  I  am  doubly  grate- 
ful that  I  shall  not  lose  you  as  soon  as  I  had  ex- 
pected." 

"  Yes.     The  purchase  was  completed  only  yesterday. 


159 


The  house  was  offered  for  less  than  its  real  value.  I 
think  it  a  good  investment." 

Before  going  to  bed  that  night  she  reviewed  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  day. 

"  I  think  I  have  done  very  well  so  far.  He  is  coming 
my  way.  To  think  I  should  have  to  make  all  this  effort 
after  what  he  was  to  me  once.  I  never  saw  a  man  so 
changed !  But  he  cannot  resist  me.  And  he  is  very 
proud.  No,  I  do  not  think  it  is  pride.  I  do  not  know 
what  it  is.  He  is  different  from  any  man  I  ever  knew. 
I  believe  I  am  beginning  to  care  very  much  for  him 
really.  He  will  tell  me  all  about  that  boy  yet.  I  won- 
der if  I  could  really  marry  him  ?  And  with  that  child  ? 
I  would  not  have  believed  any  man  could  make  me 
think  so  much  about  him  when  he  was  out  of  my 
sight." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MRS.  CUNNINGHAM  was  expecting  a  visitor.  She  had 
invited  Raymond  Long  to  spend  the  afternoon  with 
her,  feeling  it  wise  to  follow  up  the  advantage  she  had 
gained  with  his  father,  immediately.  She  would  use 
every  means  to  make  the  boy  fond  of  her  and  draw 
him  to  herself.  She  was  so  unused  to  young  people  or 
children  she  hardly  knew  how  she  should  entertain  him. 

She  bethought  herself  of  a  collection  of  beautiful 
colored  photographs  from  Japan  which  were  on  a  shelf 
above  one  of  the  bookcases  in  the  room.  Moving  a 
chair  forward  she  mounted  it  and  reached  to  get  them, 
but  found  she  could  just  touch  the  case  containing  them 
with  her  fingers.  She  gave  a  little  spring  to  enable 
her  to  grasp  them.  The  impetus  given  the  chair  moved 
it  from  her,  and  at  the  same  moment  some  heavy  books 
dislodged  by  her  hand  fell,  crushing  it  against  a  sharp 
edge  of  the  bookcase.  She  could  just  reach  the  chair 
with  one  foot  and  did  not  dare  to  use  her  other  hand  to 
free  the  imprisoned  one  as  she  had  to  grasp  the  side  of 
the  bookcase  to  keep  from  falling. 

She  was  about  to  call  for  help  when  she  heard  a 
laugh  behind  her.  Turning  her  head  she  saw  a  youth 
of  sixteen  standing  in  the  door  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  a  mocking  expression  in  his  eyes  and  his 
strong  white  teeth  gleaming  as  he  laughed  at  her  help- 
lessness, making  no  motion  to  assist  her. 

160 


161 


"Why  do  you  not  come  and  help  me  instead  of 
standing  there  !  "  she  exclaimed  angrily,  all  thought  of 
her  obligations  as  hostess  swallowed  up  in  the  precari- 
ousuess  of  her  position. 

"  Because  you  look  so  awfidly  funny  spreadin'  your- 
self all  over  that  bookcase,"  he  replied,  still  laughing, 
coming  slowly  toward  her  as  if  to  longer  enjoy  the 
pleasure  her  situation  afforded  him. 

Her  hand  hurt  her  cruelly  and  she  felt  the  chair  slip- 
ping slowly  from  under  her.  A  violent  resentment 
against  him  flamed  up  in  her.  It  seemed  ages  before 
he  finally  reached  her  and  pushing  the  chair  forward 
held  it  so  that  she  had  secure  footing  and  could  release 
her  hand.  She  made  no  further  effort  to  get  the  pho- 
tographs, but  stepping  down  looked  ruefully  at  the 
broad  red  mark  on  her  injured  hand. 

"  Say !  You  don't  know  how  funny  you  looked !  "  he 
repeated. 

She  gazed  at  him  and  saw  a  handsome  face  which 
yet  had  a  strong  suggestion  of  coarseness,  a  mouth 
lacking  delicacy  and  firmness  and  with  red  sensual  lips, 
bold  eyes  which  also  contained  an  expression  of  furtive- 
ness.  Not  one  trace  of  sympathy  or  indication  of  any 
feeling  but  enjoyment. 

"  Heartless !  "  she  said  to  herself.  "  He's  nothing  but 
a  handsome  animal." 

Suddenly  he  stretched  out  a  finger  and  touched  the 
rings  she  wore. 

"  Ain't  they  beauties ! "  he  said  eagerly,  and  she 
noticed  that  his  hand  almost  quivered  like  a  creature 
about  to  pounce  upon  its  prey  and  there  was  a  covet- 
ous gleam  in  his  face. 


182 


With  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  she  covered  the 
rings  with  her  other  hand  while  a  fierce  impulse  of  re- 
sistance flamed  up  in  her,  and  moved  away  from  him. 
She  disliked  him  thoroughly,  and  it  was  only  with  a 
strong  effort  at  self-command  that  she  was  able  to  at- 
tempt the  discharge  of  her  duties  as  hostess.  But  her 
tender  feelings  for  his  father  and  her  own  curiosity 
concerning  him  stimulated  her  in  this  direction. 

He  was  restless,  roaming  limpingly  about  the  room, 
seemingly  unable  to  remain  long  in  one  place  or  posi- 
tion, and  to  have  little  regard  for  social  amenities  or 
good  manners.  He  picked  up  and  handled  indiscrimi- 
nately whatever  attracted  his  attention,  interrupted 
her  as  she  spoke  whenever  impulse  seized  him.  He  re- 
minded her,  in  a  vague  indefinite  way,  as  she  studied 
him,  of  his  father  as  she  had  formerly  known  him ;  and 
yet  he  had  not  been  at  all  like  this  boy. 

Intent  upon  finding  out  all  she  could  she  questioned 
him  as  to  his  past. 

"  How  long  have  you  lived  in  Benton  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Not  a  long  while  before  my  father  found  me,"  he 
replied.  "  How  long  have  you  ? " 

"  Where  did  you  live  before  ? "  ignoring  his  question. 

"  In —  By  ginger !  That's  a  mighty  pretty  knife  !  " 
picking  up  a  small  jewel-handled  stiletto  which  Helen 
used  as  a  paper-cutter.  '  "  Where'd  you  get  it  ? " 

"  I  bought  it  in  New  York.  But  you  did  not  answer 
my  question." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  for  ? "  said  he,  turning 
and  looking  at  her  with  an  expression  of  cunning  in 
his  face. 

She  blushed — at  his  impertinence,  she  said  to  herself. 


163 


"  I  am  interested  in  you  and  your  welfare/'  she  re- 
plied. 

"  What  for  ? "  he  again  demanded. 

She  picked  up  a  fan  from  the  table  beside  her  and 
fanned  herself.  Really !  He  was  a  most  uncomforta- 
ble youth  to  deal  with ! 

"  I  was  thinking  of  your  former  life  before  your  father 
found  you.  You  must  have  suffered  great  privation." 

"  H'm !  I  was  awful  hungry  sometimes.  But  I'd 
rather  sell  papers  now  than  go  to  school.  I  hate 
school ! "  and  the  accompanying  scowl  emphasized  his 
words. 

"  But  you  must  have  an  education.  There  are  many 
things  you  need  to  learn,"  she  remonstrated. 

"  What  does  a  feller  need  to  learn  for  ?  My  father's 
got  money  enough.  I  like  to  do  as  I've  a  mind  to." 

"  A  thorough  savage ! "  she  said  to  herself.  It  did 
not  occur  to  her  that  the  boy  had  but  expressed  a  de- 
sire universal  in  human  nature. 

"  Do  you  not  want  to  be  like  your  father  ? "  she  asked. 
"  You  are  fond  of  him,  aren't  you  ? " 

"  Oh,  he's  a  nice  enough  sort  of  a  chap."  And  down 
went  his  hands  to  the  depths  of  his  pockets  as  he 
stretched  out  his  legs,  crossed  his  feet,  and  straightened 
back  in  his  chair.  "  But  he  won't  let  me  go  out  even- 
ings except  when  I'm  with  him  ;  and  I  should  think  he 
might  give  me  more  money." 

"Your  father  knows  what  is  best  for  you.  You 
should  have  confidence  in  him." 

She  would  have  spoken  severely  but  that  she  still 
hoped  to  elicit  more  information  from  him.  He  made 
no  reply. 


164 


"  Do  you — remember  your  mother  ? "  she  ventured 
after  a  pause. 

"  No.    Never  had  any,"  he  answered  shortly. 

She  gave  it  up.  She  could  not  press  such  questions 
without  rousing  his  suspicious  combativeness.  She 
must  wait.  He  seemed  disposed  either  to  be  on  the 
alert  as  if  defending  himself  from  something  or  to  be 
sullen.  He  brightened  up,  however,  when  some  refresh- 
ments were  brought  in.  Knowing  young  people's  fond- 
ness for  sweets — which  she  shared — she  had  provided 
some  fine  confectionery. 

He  ate  greedily ;  and  on  c  as  her  hand  was  moving 
toward  a  particularly  fine  marron  glac6  he  interposed 
his  own  and  snatched  it  quickly,  laughing  that  he  had 
cheated  her  of  it. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  away  and  she  observed  him 
further  she  found  it  difficult  to  analyze  her  feeling 
toward  him.  He  both  attracted  and  repelled  her.  He 
was  very  large  of  his  age,  almost  a  man  in  his  physical 
proportions,  and  very  active  notwithstanding  his  lame- 
ness, which  was  not  pronounced.  The  shape  of  his 
head  would  have  betrayed  an  intensely  sensual  nature, 
one  lacking  in  the  higher  qualities,  had  she  been  able 
to  read  the  signs.  But  he  had  beautiful  wavy  brown 
hair,  unusually  heavy,  with  golden  lights  in  it,  which 
he  continually  threw  back  with  an  impatient  jerk  of 
the  head. 

There  was  an  ill-concealed  recklessness  pervading  his 
every  look  and  movement,  as  if  he  would  act  inevitably 
on  impulse,  with  no  effort  at  self-restraint.  Under  the 
surface,  which  was  a  thin  veneer  created  by  the  last 
three  years  of  his  life,  was  plainly  apparent  a  restless 


165 


nature  threatening  continually  to  break  out  of  bounds 
in  its  efforts  for  self-gratification.  While  he  repelled 
he  also  fascinated  her.  She  did  not  like  him  and  yet 
she  had  a  sense  of  kinship  in  a  curious  indefinite  way, 
a  feeling  as  if  he  were  not  altogether  new  and  unknown 
to  her,  as  if  what  he  might  say  or  do  next  would  be 
portentous  for  her. 

But  keeping  her  object  steadily  in  view,  she  exerted 
herself  to  make  the  time  pass  pleasantly  for  him.  He 
grew  more  amenable  and  chatted  with  her  quite  freely 
of  his  life  at  school,  drawing  pictures  of  some  of  his 
teachers  and  school-fellows  which  made  her  laugh 
heartily  and  established  a  kind  of  fellowship  between 
them.  She  had  a  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous  herself, 
the  faculty  of  seeing  the  absurd  and  inconsistent  in 
people,  which  gave  her  much  quiet  enjoyment  unsus- 
pected by  others  who  looked  at  the  open-eyed  inno- 
cence of  her  soft  brown  eyes.  He  gave  no  hint  of  why 
he  was  at  home  again,  however.  The  indifference  he 
had  at  first  manifested  disappeared,  and  from  roam- 
ing around  the  room  he  was  sitting  contentedly  quite 
near  her. 

"  Say,  you're  a  mighty  handsome  woman !  "  he  burst 
out  suddenly  with  his  eyes  fastened  on  her  face. 

Helen  laughed.  Even  boyish  admiration  was  not  to 
be  disdained. 

"  Thank  you !  "  she  said  lightly.  "  I  shall  be  very 
glad  if  you  approve  of  me." 

But  she  was  beginning  to  tire  of  him  and  was  not 
Bony  when  the  time  came  for  his  departure. 

"  Will  you  come  and  see  me  again  ? "  she  asked  as  he 
took  leave. 


166 


"  Oh,  yes !  I  don't  mind,"  he  replied  nonchalantly. 
"  Will  you  have  some  more  of  that  candy  if  I  do  ? " 

She  promised  there  should  be  a  full  supply,  and 
breathed  a  great  sigh  of  relief  when  she  was  once  more 
alone. 

"  He  is  a  most  unpromising  specimen  except  for  his 
good  looks,"  she  said  to  herself. 

But  the  remembrance  of  his  father's  kiss  stole  over 
her — that  grave,  strong  man  who  unbent  only  to  her. 
It  was  like  a  wooing  from  one  whom  she  had  met  but 
lately.  For  all  of  the  past,  she  had  never  known  this 
man  before. 

"  Oh,  well !     We  shall  see !  "  and  she  smiled  softly. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THERE  was  a  stir  in  certain  circles  in  Benton.  Their 
own  Miriam  Hartwell  was  to  make  the  effort  of  her 
life.  She  was  working  incessantly  for  the  "  Woman's 
Higher  Thought  League,"  throwing  all  her  energies 
into  the  endeavor  to  bring  women  out  of  their  bondage. 
How  religion  had  become  an  intellectual  bondage,  how 
women  were  serving  under  hard  and  cruel  taskmasters, 
how  necessary  for  their  deliverance  was  a  bold  and  de- 
termined stand  against  such  encroachments,  was  plain 
to  her. 

She  had  given  the  great  religions  of  the  world  care- 
ful thought  and  study ;  had  spent  time,  money,  and 
labor  without  stint  in  the  search  for  and  examination 
of  the  origin  of  the  Christian  Church.  She  had  found 
much  accepted  as  fact  which  was  only  belief — belief 
without  justifiable  foundation. 

She  was  convinced  that  irrefutable  proof  of  the  cor- 
rectness of  the  life  of  Jesus  as  given  in  the  Gospels 
could  not  be  produced.  More — there  was  good  reason 
to  suppose  that  the  character  itself  was  a  myth,  clothed 
upon  with  the  hopes  and  aspirations  of  a  people  and  a 
time ;  good  and  noble,  but  not  necessarily  true.  She 
could  see  the  same  ideal  in  all  religions,  the  same  iden- 
tical ethical  teaching,  She  was  sure  that  women  were 

167 


168 


pinning  their  faith  and  their  hopes  to  a  sentiment 
roused  by  their  own  undeveloped  natures,  a  sentiment 
which  the  broader  intellectuality  of  men  rejected  as 
founded  in  truth. 

And  her  breast  swelled  with  pride  as  she  reflected 
that  she  had  been  able  to  reach  this  vantage-ground 
and  could  look  down  upon  the  fallacies  of — to  her — ob- 
solete religion,  instead  of  being  held  in  its  toils,  to  the 
stultifying  of  her  intellectual  nature.  She  must  there- 
fore— her  clear  vision  and  conviction  compelled — con- 
stitute herself  a  leader  and  deliverer  for  women.  She 
must  and  she  would  devote  herself  and  everything  of 
which  she  was  capable  to  their  progress. 

As  the  result  of  her  researches  she  had  prepared  a 
careful  statement  of  the  history  of  the  Christian  relig- 
ion— supported  by  historical  evidence  and  by  the  lack  of 
it,  the  inconsistencies  and  contradictions  of  the  Bible, 
the  overwhelming  proof  of  the  falsity  of  religious  teach- 
ings through  the  demonstrations  of  science — which 
she  was  to  deliver  as  an  address  to  the  combined 
women's  clubs  and  societies  of  Benton  in  the  largest 
hall  the  city  afforded.  She  knew  these  would  be  rein- 
forced by  a  general  attendance  of  the  intelligent  popu- 
lation. Her  name  was  sufficient  to  crowd  the  hall. 
Even  the  opponents  of  her  views  respected  her  power 
and  admired  her  ability. 

If  she  would  have  admitted  it  to  herself,  she  would 
have  said  that  she  was  somewhat  nervous  in  the  antici- 
pation of  this  ordeal.  For  it  was  an  ordeal  in  view  of 
what  she  had  at  stake.  She  never  had  failed  yet  in  the 
accomplishment  of  what  she  had  undertaken.  Her  in- 
domitable will  and  exhaustless  energy  had  carried  her 


169 


through.  Failure  was  something  she  could  not  brook. 
She  never  thought  of  it  but  it  gave  her  a  death-like 
faintness. 

This  recent  organization  whose  success  was  to  be  the 
crowning  achievement  of  her  life  did  not  grow  as  she 
wished  to  see  it,  either  in  numbers  or  enthusiasm. 
Sarah's  views  of  the  reason  why  were  too  unwelcome  to 
be  encouraged  for  a  moment.  Reason  must  finally  ob- 
tain control  over  a  mere  sentiment. 

The  "Association  for  Mutual  Helpfulness  and  Im- 
provement "  meanwhile  kept  steadily  on  its  way.  While 
Everett  worked  as  vigorously  as  ever,  there  were  times 
when  he  felt  some  of  the  old  unrest.  His  desire  and  en- 
ergy did  not  flow  so  solidly  in  one  direction  as  before. 
Some  of  it  seemed  to  be  diverted  at  times.  He  was 
drawn  two  ways. 

Helen  was  much  in  his  thoughts.  He  had  put  from 
him  all  expectation  of  marriage  and  domestic  life  in 
the  intention  to  devote  himself  to  the  broader  life  and 
larger  family  of  mankind.  He  honestly  desired  to  be 
unselfish,  to  have  no  individual  interest  which  was  not 
a  universal  good.  He  wished  to  live  for  others  before 
himself.  But  Helen's  continued  interest  in  the  boy 
modified  these  views  and  opened  new  prospects.  He 
was  growing  very  fond  of  her,  he  was  compelled  to 
admit  to  himself. 

With  the  habit  of  self-analysis  he  had  cultivated  he 
examined  his  feelings  and  saw  that  they  varied  at  dif- 
ferent times.  When  he  was  away  from  her  he  was  able 
to  calmly  consider  the  advantages  and  disadvantages 
of  lifelong  association  with  her.  When  he  was  with 
her  the  disadvantages  faded  from  view  and  his  desire 


170 


for  her  increased  fourfold.  It  seemed  as  if  that  kiss 
had  kindled  a  fever  in  his  blood  which,  when  with  her, 
he  found  it  hard  to  control.  Why  should  he?  he 
thought  sometimes.  Why  not  clasp  her  in  his  arms 
and  enjoy  to  the  full,  regardless  of  the  consequences  to 
either,  the  pleasures  her  ripe,  warm,  palpitating  beauty 
would  aif  ord  him  ? 

But  invariably  at  those  moments  of  threatened  mad- 
ness that  inner  voice  like  a  distant  low-toned  bell 
sounded  its  warning  appeal,  "  Live  to  your  best."  And 
when  it  had  passed  he  was  surprised,  sometimes  almost 
dismayed,  to  find  that  he  could  still  be  brought  under 
the  power  of  his  sense-nature  sufficiently  to  compel  a 
battle  with  himself.  He  had  thought  that  victory 
gained. 

At  these  moments  he  wished  for  Paul,  who  still  con- 
tinued absent.  He  could  turn  to  no  other  one.  But 
he  knew  he  must  lead  and  not  lean,  that  he  must  prove 
and  show  the  way  by  walking  in  it.  -The  clearer  vision 
born  of  his  experience  showed  him  that  the  bridge  to 
higher  possibilities  for  the  race  must  always  be  a  living 
one. 

Sometimes  in  an  almost  rebellious  frame  of  mind  he 
sought  justification  for  the  gratification  of  his  impulses. 
But  the  rebellion  disappeared  when  he  saw  nature  as  a 
whole,  traced  that  continuity  of  desire  in  all  her  king- 
doms which  acts  as  an  impetus  forward,  the  universal 
instinct  which  unites  the  sexes  throughout  the  ascent 
of  species  up  to  the  human,  as  much  instinct,  natural 
and  justifiable,  in  the  human  as  in  those  below  it.  He 
saw  that  this  continuity  of  instinct  was  the  necessary 
corollary  of  evolution,  that  evolution  which  was  to 
bring  a  yet  higher  species.  For  the  human,  with  its 


present  manifest  weaknesses  and  defects,  could  not  be 
the  highest  development  of  the  genus  Man. 

How?  Through  transformation  of  energy — trans- 
mutation. 

"  Be  ye  transformed  by  the  renewing  of  your  mind, 
that  ye  may  prove." 

By  transmuting  the  unconscious  animal  instinct  into 
conscious  power  through  self-control. 

Where  ?  Where  this  alchemy  alone  is  possible — with 
the  human  species. 

When  ?  When  experience  has  brought  perception  of 
the  aim  and  meaning  of  evolution — the  development  of 
the  divine  from  the  human. 

"  Ye  shall  be  as  gods !  " 

When  on  that  battle-ground,  human  nature,  the  con- 
test between  animal  instinct  welling  up  and  divine  im- 
pulse flowing  down  is  waged  and  won,  the  instinct  not 
killed  but  ruled. 

When  as  captive  instead  of  ruler  it  falls  into  the  di- 
vine as  well  as  the  natural  order. 

When  the  animal  nature  of  the  human  species  is  thus 
made  to  serve  as  a  way-preparer  of  the  divine. 

When  human  dominion  of  the  universal  animal  im- 
pulse makes  possible  the  divine  dominion  of  the  uni- 
versal human. 

When  manly  vigor  is  no  longer  the  animal  instinct 
intensified  and  differentiated  by  the  addition  of  intel- 
lect, but  is  the  calm  equipoise  of  focused  forces  directed 
by  the  illuminated  will. 

Deep  down  in  his  soul  he  knew.  With  the  eye  which 
was  unclouded  because  it  did  not  belong  to  the  sense- 
nature,  which  gravitates  downward,  he  began  to  see  the 
coming  man,  king,  not  slave. 


172 


After  a  period  of  this  self-examination,  which  always 
resulted  in  a  strengthened  aspiration,  he  was  able  to 
consider  more  calmly  his  course  of  action.  And  if  he 
were  with  Helen  immediately  afterward  he  felt  in  her  a 
disappointment,  a  lack.  Had  he  put  his  feeling  into 
words — he  had  hardly  denned  it  even  for  himself — he 
would  have  said  she  did  not  feed  that  higher  nature 
which  was  individually  his  own.  She  stimulated,  in- 
stead, the  one  he  shared  in  common  with  other  crea- 
tures, and  roused  in  him  the  desire  of  possession. 

His  son  was  to  be  considered.  He  must  do  the  best 
in  his  power  for  the  boy.  If  he  married  Helen,  if  she 
would  many  him  knowing  nothing  of  the  boy's  history, 
surely  the  child's  future  was  made  as  smooth  and  as 
sure  as  was  possible  for  it  to  be.  He  should  risk  noth- 
ing then  by  telling  her  the  truth,  and  she  would  but  be 
the  more  thankful  to  stand  before  others  in  her  relation 
to  the  youth  as  she  was  in  reality.  The  boy  would 
have  his  mother,  she  would  have  her  child,  he  would 
have  both,  and  no  stain  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  would 
rest  upon  her.  But — 

Admirable  as  this  arrangement  would  be  from  every 
point  of  view  but  that  of  his  awakened  and  maturing 
soul,  there  was  something  lacking. 

The  woman  clothed  with  the  sun  ? 

In  those  rare  moments  when  every  clamoring  voice 
in  him  was  stilled,  when  his  whole  being  went  out  in 
adoration  to  that  possible  divinity  enshrined  in  his  holy 
of  holies,  he  could  conceive  of  a  woman,  "  the  divine 
womanly."  Did  this  world  afford  such  an  one  ?  Should 
he  ever  see  her  in  the  flesh  ? 

The  boy  perplexed  him.     When  he  thought  he  could 


ro 


see  signs  of  filial  love,  an  attachment  which  was  not 
prompted  by  the  good  things  of  life  the  youth  received 
from  him,  something  was  sure  to  occur  to  make  him 
doubtful  again  if  the  tie  between  them  was  above  that 
level  for  the  boy. 

Sarah  Hartwell  was  the  only  one  who  seemed  able  to 
call  out  the  best  in  him.  The  rough  restlessness  of  his 
manner  always  disappeared  in  her  presence.  He  be- 
came quiet  and  respectful,  even  gentle.  His  bold  eyes 
softened  as  he  looked  at  her,  and  she  often  found  him 
sitting  or  standing  silently  by  her  when  at  the  social 
meetings  of  the  Society,  which  he  frequently  attended. 
Her  heart  went  out  to  him,  motherless  and  lonely, 
chafing  under  restraint  he  did  not  understand,  unable 
to  fraternize  with  associations  foreign  to  his  own  igno- 
rantly  sensual  nature,  held  back  from  those  toward 
which  he  naturally  gravitated. 

It  was  a  case  of  a  square  post  in  a  round  hole.  His 
edges  and  angles  had  yet  to  be  drawn  through  experi- 
ence into  conformity  to  the  eternal  pattern.  She  saw 
in  him  the  infancy  of  the  soul  with  the  maturity  of  the 
sense-nature — the  feeble  infant  bound  round  with  the 
swaddling-clothes  of  fleshly  tendencies,  lying  in  the 
manger  where  the  beasts  feed.  She  saw  that  this  in- 
fant needed  mothering  that  it  might  outgrow  its  swad- 
dling-clothes. And  out  of  that  heart  of  love  which 
gave  as  ceaselessly  and  as  silently  as  the  sunshine  falls 
upon  the  earth,  she  ministered  to  it. 

Everett  saw  the  effect  she  had  upon  his  son — upon 
every  one  with  whom  she  had  to  deal — and  was  thank- 
ful. She  had  more  influence  with  him  than  had  Helen, 
of  whom  he  often  spoke  indifferently.  But  his  defense 


of  Sarah  was  instantaneous  if  he  heard  of  her  what  he 
construed  as  an  unfavorable  criticism.  He  sometimes 
— though  never  in  his  father's  presence — referred  to 
Helen  as  "the  widder,"  but  Sarah  was  always  "Miss 
Hartwell,"  and  often,  with  an  almost  reverential  tone, 
"  that  nice  Miss  Hartwell."  His  street- Arab  manner 
had  been  quite  effectually  toned  down.  It  cropped  up 
at  times,  but  never  when  with  Sarah.  He  yielded  with- 
out resistance  to  her  slightest  request. 

Everett's  estimate  of  her  had  undergone  a  great 
change  since  he  had  been  thrown  more  in  her  company 
through  their  common  interests  and  work  in  the  So- 
ciety. He  had  always  thought  her  very  good  and  kind, 
but  lacking  her  sister's  force  and  ability.  There  was 
nothing  about  her  to  take  one  by  storm,  but  he  was 
coming  to  see  that  she  could  be  a  continual  revelation. 

Much  of  the  good  result  with  individual  members  he 
could  trace  to  her  influence.  High  as  was  the  estima- 
tion in  which  she  was  held  by  all  as  they  came  to  know 
her  better,  he  could  not  detect  in  her  the  smallest  trace 
of  egotism.  She  seemed  to  be  almost  unconscious  of 
herself,  though  keenly  alive  to  the  smallest  need  of 
others.  He  did  not  merely  admire  her,  he  was  learning 
to  reverence  her. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

IN  that  part  of  a  great  city  where  the  narrow  streets 
and  tall  buildings  are  alive  with  a  sweating  and  toiling 
humanity,  on  an  evening  when  the  heat,  which  had  not 
disappeared  with  the  sun,  added  to  the  labor  of  the  day 
strengthened  the  sense  of  oppression  growing  in  the 
toilers,  a  company  of  them  was  crowded  into  an  upper 
rear  room  which  afforded  a  comparative  refuge  from 
the  noise  of  the  street. 

It  was  spacious  according  to  their  idea  of  spacious- 
ness, being  large  enough  to  hold  from  fifty  to  seventy- 
five  persons.  It  was  clean,  so  clean  and  orderly  as  to 
produce  in  many  of  its  occupants  by  the  force  of  sug- 
gestion an  effort  at  greater  personal  tidiness  than  the 
treadmill  round  of  their  daily  duties  required  of  them. 
It  contained  but  little  furniture,  but  the  little  was  sub- 
stantial in  construction.  Benches  with  backs,  to  pre- 
vent pressure  against  the  wall  and  consequent  soiling, 
were  ranged  around  the  room.  A  large  strong  table 
stood  at  the  upper  end,  surrounded  by  comfortable 
wooden  arm-chairs;  others  were  scattered  indiscrimi- 
nately about  the  room.  A  bookcase  filled  with  books 
and  a  rack  containing  files  of  the  daily  papers  com- 
pleted its  furnishings,  with  the  exception  of  a  large 
stone  jug  which  stood  in  a  shallow  pan,  surrounded  by 
stone  mugs,  on  a  small  table  in  one  corner. 

175 


176 


Seated  at  the  table  in  a  chair  raised  sufficiently  to 
bring  his  face  on  a  level  with  their  own  was  Paul  Mas- 
ters, surrounded  by  half  a  dozen  men,  varying  in  age 
from  twenty-two  or  three  years  to  fifty.  Their  faces 
were  intensely  earnest  in  expression  as  they  conversed 
with  one  another,  their  voices  rising  frequently  above  the 
conversational  point,  their  words  emphasized  by  a  blow 
of  the  fist  on  the  table  which  indicated  an  immense 
amount  of  brute  strength  precariously  under  control. 

There  was  a  noticeable  change,  however,  both  in  voice 
and  gesture  whenever  they  addressed  Paul;  a  toning 
down  which  bore  witness  to  the  superior  force  opera- 
tive in  him,  small  and  frail  as  he  was.  Any  of  the  men 
in  the  room  could  have  handled  him  as  a  plaything,  and 
yet  a  word,  a  look  of  his  was  sufficient  to  check  the 
threatened  quarrel  arising  from  heated  dispute.  The 
frequenters  of  this  room  were  of  the  class  which  sub- 
mitted to  their  superiors  in  the  industrial  world,  a  sub- 
mission near  akin  to  rebellion.  Here  and  to  him  they 
yielded  obedience. 

Among  themselves  they  knew  him  as  "the  Helper." 
He  had  come  among  them  when,  "out  on  a  strike," 
some  of  the  more  hot-blooded  of  their  number  were 
planning  a  personal  attack  on  two  or  three  men  whom 
they  believed  to  stand  between  them  and  their  "  rights." 
At  first  they  had  been  inclined  to  resent  his  proffered 
advice,  while  wonder-struck  at  his  knowledge  of  their 
intentions  and  affairs,  which  compelled  them  to  abandon 
their  project.  But  disarmed  by  his  fearlessness  com- 
bined with  his  physical  weakness  they  were  soon  won 
to  recognition  of  his  true  interest  in  them  and  desire 
that  they  should  have  all  that  was  justly  their  due. 


177 


He  gave  unmistakable  evidence  of  his  sympathy  with 
them,  and  yet  he  never  "  took  sides."  He  always  looked 
on  both  sides  of  every  question,  every  position,  and 
usually  succeeded  in  showing  them  something  in  favor 
of  the  one  opposed  to  their  own  of  which  they  were 
unaware,  or  had  overlooked.  They  always  found  him 
ready  and  usually  able  to  give  help — not  always  the 
financial  assistance  which  some  of  the  more  ignorant 
among  them  directly  requested  and  indirectly  demanded 
as  soon  as  they  saw  his  interest  in  them ;  though  there 
was  little  material  evidence  to  show  that  he  was  much 
better  off  in  this  regard  than  the  more  industrious  of 
themselves. 

He  came  and  went  among  them,  maintaining  the  ex- 
pense of  the  room  which  was  their  common  meeting- 
place,  quiet,  gentle,  resourceful  for  them  at  all  times, 
his  cool-headedness  and  strong  sense  of  justice  the  oil 
upon  the  angry  waters  of  their  undeveloped  natures 
smarting  under  a  sense  of  oppression. 

Their  curiosity  concerning  him  had  disappeared, 
swallowed  up  in  their  growing  regard  and  confidence. 
They  had  a  certain  kind  of  fear  of  him  which  did  not 
interfere  with  this  regard  or  confidence  but  rather 
strengthened  it.  Not  a  few  of  them  had  been  startled 
by  Paul's  approaching  them  privately  and  advising 
them  not  to  do  what  they  were  thinking  of  doing,  what 
they  had  not  opened  their  lips  upon  to  a  living  being, 
what,  probably,  nothing  would  have  induced  them  at 
that  time  to  mention.  But  they  also  found  that  they 
could  trust  him  absolutely,  could  repose  the  most  inti- 
mate confidence  in  him,  which  he  would  keep  inviolate. 

Among  themselves  it  was  becoming  a  habit  to  refer 


178 


every  subject  of  dispute,  every  matter  upon  which  in- 
dividually they  were  unable  to  make  up  their  minds,  to 
"  the  Helper,"  and  he  never  failed  them,  never  discour- 
aged or  seemed  tired  of  them.  He  did  not  always  say 
what  they  wished  to  hear,  but  sooner  or  later  they  had 
to  confess  he  was  just. 

The  heated  discussion  at  the  table  evidently  needed 
cooling.  One  after  another  rose  and  went  to  the  jug 
in  the  corner,  which  soon  reached  that  state  of  empti- 
ness that  brought  an  exclamation  of  disappointment 
from  a  young  fellow  who  turned  it  upside  down.  Go- 
ing to  the  oldest  man  at  the  table  he  said  a  word  or 
two.  The  other  rising  left  the  room  with  the  empty 
jug,  returning  in  a  moment  with  another  which  he 
handed  to  the  disappointed  one,  saying  good-naturedly, 
"  Mind  you  youngsters  drink  fair  now !  " 

With  a  conciliatory  grin  the  young  fellow  refreshed 
himself,  saying  to  another  waiting  his  turn,  as  he 
smacked  his  lips,  "  That  isn't  bad  for  beer  anyhow ! " 

"  I  thought  'twas  mighty  thin  stuff  't  first,"  returned 
the  other,  "  but  I'm  gittin'  used  ter  it." 

Recognizing  the  naturalness  of  thirst  and  the  craving 
for  the  social  element  that  goes  with  "  a  drink,"  Paul 
had  provided  a  constant  supply  of  home-made  root-beer 
for  his  visitors,  for  visitors  they  were.  The  place  was 
his,  not  theirs,  and  he  required  of  them  the  conduct 
which  accorded  with  the  fact,  while  he  gave  them  no 
room  for  doubt  of  their  welcome.  He  did  not  inveigh 
against  tobacco  or  upbraid  them  for  their  use  of  it ;  but 
he  let  them  see  it  was  very  unpleasant  to  him  and  they 
had  no  right  to  make  him  uncomfortable  when  they 
were  his  guests.  Indirectly,  when  discussing  ways  and 


179 


means,  the  needs  of  their  families  as  well  as  their  own, 
he  brought  the  needless  expense  it  involved  before 
them,  leaving  them  to  deal  with  the  problem  as  they 
saw  fit. 

"  I  tell  yer  'tain't  fair  that  one  man  should  have  'is 
millions  an'  'nuther  nothin'.  Things  orter  be  evened 
up !  "  said  one  of  the  men. 

"  There  yer  go  again,  Jim.  Yer  might's  well  let  up 
on  that  'n'  take  what  yer  c'n  git,"  replied  another  per- 
suasively. 

"  I'm  dommed  if  I  do,"  returned  Jim  impetuously. 
"  I'll  git  all  I  c'n  take." 

"  Jim's  goin'  ter  be  a  capiterlist  yet  'n'  sit  in  board- 
meetin's  '11'  smoke  twenty-five-centers.  See !  "  said  a 
third,  and  a  good-natured  laugh  went  round  at  this 
picture  of  Jim's  ambitions. 

"  'Tain't  a  question  of  what  I'd  do  with  it,"  he  persisted 
stoutly.  "  It's  what  a  man  orter  have  when  he  works 
all  the  time  the  best  he  knows  how." 

"  Or  when  he's  willin'  ter  work  an'  'tain't  his  fault  if 
he  don't  have  none,"  chimed  in  a  fourth. 

"  That's  it !  That's  jest  it,  Bill !  "  assented  one  of  the 
older  men.  "  But  who's  ter  blame  'f  ther  ain't  no  work 
f er  him  to  do  ? " 

"  It's  pollertics !  That's  just  what  it  is !  Pollertics !  " 
broke  in  another. 

"  Why  don't  the  guv'nment  take  care  of  its  citizens  ? " 
demanded  the  one  called  Bill.  "It  orter.  Here  I've 
got  six  children  'n'  'nuther  comin'.  I've  thought  I  had 
all  I  c'd  do  ter  feed  them,  an'  sum  er  workin'  too.  But 
I'll  manage  somehow.  Can't  the  guv'nment  ?  " 

A  storm  of  pros  and  cons,  demands  and  counterde- 


180 


mands,  raged  for  a  few  minutes,  when  Paul's  voice 
breaking  in  produced  silence. 

"  You  had  three  dollars  more  than  your  regular  pay 
last  week,  didn't  you,  Jim,  for  that  extra  job  you  did 
for  your  foreman  ? " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  How  did  you  spend  it  ? " 

Jim  colored,  dropped  his  eyes,  and  remained  silent. 

"You  'went  on  a  tear/  as  you  call  it,  on  Sunday, 
which  lasted  most  of  the  night  and  sent  you  to  your 
work  on  Monday  with  a  cut  on  your  face  that  was  not 
there  before." 

Jim  shifted  uneasily  in  his  chair,  while  the  others 
winked  at  each  other  and  grinned. 

"  If  you  cannot  use  wisely  so  small  an  amount  be- 
yond what  you  have  been  accustomed  to,  do  you  think 
you  are  capable  of  dealing  with  what  would  fall  to 
your  share  were  the  division  made  of  the  world's  wealth 
which  you  demand  ? "  and  Paul  looked  at  him  steadily, 
though  kindly. 

Jim  still  remained  in  a  self -convicted  silence. 

"  Moreover,"  Paul  went  on,  "  the  share  you  would  each 
receive  would  not  amount  to  as  much  as  you  suppose. 
Some  of  you  have  now  more  than  you  would  have  then. 
And  no  one  of  you — I  think  not  one  of  you  here — would 
wish  to  receive  that  for  which  you  did  not  return  an 
equivalent — honest  work  for  an  honest  dollar." 

Chorus  of  "  That's  so !  "  "  Yer  right !  "  "  Bet  yer 
life!" 

"  Now  then,  what  do  you  give  for  what  you  get  ? 
You  give  that  of  which  you  are  capable — no  more.  You 
can  give  no  more.  Do  you  always  get  what  it  is  worth  ? 


181 


Yes  and  no.  Considered  as  the  best  yon  have  to 
offer,  honestly,  industriously,  faithfully  tendered,  you 
do  not  always  receive  what  your  effort  and  time  are 
worth  in  consequence.  Considered  as  a  commodity  in 
the  market,  your  service  is  worth  the  market  price — not 
more.  This  you  receive.  The  difference  between  the 
value  you  naturally  place  upon  your  blood,  bone,  and 
sinew  converted  into  labor  and  the  value  it  has  in  the 
market  is  a  great  one.  To  you  there  is  injustice  some- 
where. To  your  employers  it  is  simply  justice  every- 
where. They  wish  they  could  be  generous  instead  of 
giving  just  what  labor  can  command — understand  now 
I  am  talking  from  their  point  of  view,  which  should  be 
considered  as  well  as  your  own — but  they  cannot. 

"  It  is  a  question  of  dollars  and  cents,  of  business, 
not  generosity.  They  have  to  sell  the  products  of  your 
labor  for  the  market  price,  not  for  the  one  their  gener- 
osity— to  you  their  sense  of  justice — would  prompt 
them  to  name.  They  are  in  business  to  make  money. 
You  labor  to  make  a  living.  Both  are  entitled  to  that 
for  which  you  work.  Neither  is  entitled  to  it  by  unfair 
means.  But  one  thing  is  sure.  Those  who  are  capa- 
ble of  the  labor  of  the  body  only  will  fail  to  see  the 
financial  value  of  ideas.  The  man  of  muscle  and  the 
man  of  brain  will  continue  to  be  placed  in  the  position 
of  antagonists  till  both  see  themselves  as  members 
of  one  body,  and  their  relation  to  each  other  through 
their  relation  to  it.  Till  then  the  man  of  brain  will 
continue  to  be  the  monopolist  and  the  man  of  muscle 
the  one  who  suffers  in  c<ms.-i|iirii<-..." 

"Tain't  fair  that  Mandergilt  should  live  in  a  palace 
an'  spend  five  thousand  dollars  on  a  party  when  I 


182 


hain't  got  'miff  to  pay  my  next  month's  rent,"  broke 
in  one  who  had  listened  attentively. 

"  'N'  he  didn't  earn  his  money  neither ! "  added  Bill. 
"He  never  done  anything.  He  had  it  stuffed  in  his 
pockets  afore  he  was  born." 

"  Who  got  the  money  spent  on  the  party,  Walker  ? " 
said  Paul,  turning  toward  the  first  speaker.  "It  all 
went  for  supplies  furnished  by  tradespeople  directly 
and  by  the  labor  of  such  as  you  indirectly.  Through 
one  channel  it  flowed  into  many,  coming  to  the  labor- 
ing man  as  the  supply  for  his  necessities,  rent  included. 
Think  of  the  kinds  of  labor  and  number  of  laborers 
connected  with  that  five  thousand  dollars!  And  as 
for  the  palace,  would  you  consider  it  a  great  privilege 
and  pleasure  to  live  in  it  yourself  ?  If  you  could  have 
it  now  for  the  asking,  would  you  take  it,  to  be  obliged 
to  live  according  to  its  requirements  ?  You  know  you 
would  not.  You  could  not.  There  is  the  question  of 
fitness.  Its  owner's  happiness  would  be  your  torment. 
Only  last  week  when  you  had  to  wear  a  stiff  shirt  and 
collar  and  what  you  call  your  '  company  manners,'  at 
the  i  Working-men's  Social,'  for  a  few  hours,  you  were 
in  misery.  Imagine  what  life  would  be  if  you  had  to 
keep  that  up  all  the  time." 

A  roar  of  laughter  at  the  picture  of  Sam  Walker  fill- 
ing the  place  of  a  many-times  millionaire  interrupted 
Paul's  efforts  to  show  him  his  hopeless  nonconformity 
to  the  pattern. 

"As  to  earning  his  money,  Bill,"  he  continued,  when 
the  merriment  had  subsided,  "what  would  you  have 
him  do — stand  up  and  say,  <  Here  !  I  won't  have  this 
money  because  I  did  not  earn  it  and  my  father  and 


183 


grandfather  did.  Take  it,  somebody'?  Would  you 
do  it  if  you  were  in  his  place  ?  You  might  be  one  of 
the  many  to  step  up  and  take  what  you  could  get  of  it, 
but  would  you — think  honestly  now — give  it  away  for 
any  such  reason,  or  deny  yourself  what  it  would  bring 
you?  No.  You  know  you  would  not,"  as  Bill  shook 
his  head  slowly.  "Do  not  forget  what  I  so  often  tell 
you  all.  Learn  to  look  on  both  sides  of  every  position, 
every  question.  There  is  some  right  with  every  one. 
You  and  your  class  bestow  injustice  as  well  as  re- 
ceive it. 

"An  organic  body  is  one,  its  members  are  many. 
Every  member  is  necessary  to  the  body,  however  use- 
less some  of  them  may  seem  to  each  other.  Judged  by 
the  immediate  results  of  contact  between  them,  some 
could  well  be  spared ;  but  judged  according  to  the  in- 
direct results  to  each  through  the  one  intermediary, 
the  body,  all  would  suffer  through  the  loss  of  one,  all 
do  suffer  through  injury  to  one.  The  foot  is  down  in 
the  dust,  begrimed  with  the  soil  of  travel,  that  carries 
the  body  along.  The  hand,  as  the  foot  looks  up  at  it, 
is  aloft,  free  to  see  and  move  and  enjoy  in  the  unre- 
stricted air.  And  so  the  foot  says,  -'  I  will  no  longer 
work  until  I  can  have  what  the  hand  has,7  thinking  that 
because  the  hand  is  further  removed  from  the  dust,  the 
sweat,  and  the  soil,  it  is  spared  what  the  other  endures 
unjustly.  Ah  !  But  the  hand  has  burdens  to  carry ! 
Burdens  which  bring  a  pain  which  is  the  dust  and 
sweat  and  soil  on  another  plane ;  burdens  which  only 
the  hand  can  carry  and  the  foot  could  not  endure,  even 
as  the  hand  could  not  endure  what  the  foot  discharges 
nobly.  Relativity  between  the  one  and  the  many,  my 


184 


friends,  is  the  only  solution  to  the  problem  of  right 
relations  between  the  many.  Get  your  bearings! 
Learn — try  to  learn — to  see  what  humanity  is  as  a  whole 
and  then  your  present  place  in  the  great  plan." 

This  evening,  as  at  all  times  before  Paul  dismissed 
them,  a  great  change  was  apparent  in  the  faces  and 
words  of  those  who  conferred  with  him.  They  lost 
much  of  the  careless  roughness  and  unthinking  impet- 
uosity habitual  to  them,  became  sober  and  thoughtful. 
He  had  great  influence  because  they  could  not  fail  to 
see  his  fair-mindedness.  And  some  knew  another  side 
to  him,  a  yearning,  tender,  loving  one  which  brooded 
over  them  as  gently  and  as  constantly  as  the  mother- 
bird  over  her  young.  They  had  seen  in  his  face,  heard 
in  his  voice,  what  had  thrilled  them  as  a  dreamed-of 
but  never-to-be-experienced  love  which  could  see  all, 
endure  all,  be  all  for  them,  asking,  expecting  no  return ; 
one  which  but  grew  richer  in  the  growing,  deeper  in 
the  bestowing,  more  exhaustless  as  their  needs  multi- 
plied. At  these  times  a  few  words  were  sufficient  to 
lead  them  as  he  would,  for,  as  they  said  among  them- 
selves, "  D'yer  mind  the  light  in  his  face  ? " 

When  they  had  all  gone  Paul  still  sat  in  his  chair, 
his  head  leaning  against  the  back,  his  hands  passive 
on  the  arms,  his  eyes  far-seeing  because,  though  look- 
ing out,  he  was  looking  in.  He  saw  a  long  road  with 
many  windings  and  turnings,  which  wound  up  and  up 
and  out  of  sight.  It  began  in  darkness  and  disappeared 
in  light. 

There  was  a  traveler  on  this  road  to  whom  these 
windings  seemed  like  new  paths  leading  from  it.  As 
he  came  to  them  and  paused  to  look  he  always  stepped 


in,  for  they  were  carpeted  with  grass  and  flowers  and 
the  road  was  diy  and  dusty.  He  saw  other  travelers 
enjoying  their  cool  greenness.  There  he  would  have 
companions;  in  the  dry  and  dusty  road  he  was  alone. 

But  the  coolness  and  the  greenness  and  the  compan- 
ionship faded  after  a  time,  and  as  his  eye  followed  the 
course  of  his  falling  tears  he  saw  that  they  dropped 
upon  the  same  dry  road.  He  did  not  know  it,  but  go- 
ing on  he  had  come  back  and  was  toiling  along  the 
path  that  led  up,  up  out  of  sight. 

Whenever  he  stepped  into  those  winding  ways  that 
looked  like  new  paths,  he  looked  young  and  straight 
and  vigorous.  When  he  found  himself  in  the  old  road, 
he  was  old  and  bent  and  gray  till  he  came  to  where  the 
darkness  at  the  beginning  began  to  be  put  out  by  the 
light  at  the  end.  Then  it  was  the  old  man  who  tried 
the  seeming  new  ways  and  the  young  man  who  pressed 
vigorously  forward  with  his  face  toward  the  light. 

And  slowly,  very  slowly  he  went  up  while  he  wan- 
dered around.  However  long  he  wandered  he  always 
went  up,  for  the  light  drew  him  and  the  darkness 
pushed  him  on.  And  as  the  darkness  heaped  up  against 
him,  pushing  him  on,  Paul  saw  his  own  burden-laden 
back ;  and  as  the  light  drew  him  further  and  further  he 
saw  his  own  face. 

There  was  a  timid  uncertain  knock  at  the  door,  an 
appeal  for  "the  Helper,"  doubt  of  the  help.  He  did 
not  call  "  Come  in,"  he  went  and  opened  the  door. 

A  woman  stood  waiting.  The  darkness  was  in  her 
face,  not  the  light.  It  was  hard,  red,  and  seamed.  It 
was  of  the  dust  of  the  ground,  coarse,  and  stamped  with 
the  likeness  of  the  beast.  But  over  it  as  a  veil  was  a 


186 


yearning,  a  blind  groping,  a  pitiful  helplessness.  "  An 
infant  crying  in  the  night." 

As  she  hesitated  he  took  her  hand  and  led  her  to  his 
own  chair,  taking  one  beside  her.  For  an  hour  they 
talked,  her  voice  rough,  broken,  uneven,  his  tones  firm, 
earnest,  and  tender.  And  then  she  had  slipped  from 
the  chair  to  the  floor  and  was  sitting  at  his  feet,  look- 
ing up  in  his  face  with  awe  in  her  own,  the  likeness 
of  the  beast  grown  fainter,  the  likeness  of  the  woman 
come.  For  where  his  feet  were  planted  was  the  mount- 
ain of  transfiguration. 

Magdalen — Madonna.  Two  sides  of  one  nature.  The 
face  of  the  darkness  and  the  face  of  the  light.  Between 
the  two  the  long,  dry,  dusty  road. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  I  DO  wish  Walter  would  go  home." 

Emma  Hemming  way  looked  very  disconsolate  as  she 
sat  in  a  garden  chair  under  a  big  tree,  the  profusion  of 
color  and  bewildering  tangle  of  a  real  country  garden 
all  about  her.  Her  book  had  fallen  unheeded  to  the 
ground,  her  attitude  was  listless  in  the  extreme.  From 
the  cottage  not  far  off  came  the  sounds  suggestive  of 
that  woman's  work  which  is  never  done,  which  is  con- 
tinually swallowed  up  in  the  ever-present  necessity. 
Otherwise  an  occasional  wagon  passing  along  the  dis- 
tant road  was  the  only  sign  of  the  proximity  of  human 
beings. 

It  was  unspeakably  dull  even  when  Walter  was  with 
her.  When  he  was  away  it  was  unbearable.  She  had 
remonstrated  with  him  until  she  was  afraid  to  do  it 
again.  He  had  become  very  angry,  almost  violent, 
answering  her  as  he  had  never  spoken  before.  She 
could  not  understand  him  now.  He  was  so  moody  and 
fitful,  sometimes  almost  hilarious,  and  again,  without 
any  cause  as  far  as  she  could  see,  gloomy  and  depressed. 
He  insisted  that  she  was  not  well  enough  to  go  home. 
And  she  had  to  confess  that  of  late  she  did  not  feel  as 
well  as  she  had  some  weeks  before. 

She  was  so  homesick — that  was  why.  If  she  could 
only  go  back  to  her  own  dear  home !  Go  back — she 
could  fly  back !  Tears  stood  in  her  eyes  as  she  pictured 

187 


188 


it  to  herself,  the  beautiful  cottage,  with  the  lovely  little 
garden  she  was  so  proud  of,  which  had  been  her  home 
so  many  years.  Every  nail  in  it,  every  foot  of  ground, 
was  dear,  and  she  longed  for  it  unspeakably.  Her  hus- 
band had  suggested  the  possibility  of,  living  elsewhere — 
that  he  might  find  it  advisable  for  business  reasons. 

But  she  would  not  listen  to  such  a  proposition  for  a 
moment.  She  simply  could  not  live  anywhere  else.  It 
would  break  her  heart.  How  could  he  think  of  such  a 
thing !  And  how  could  he  have  been  so  cross  with  her 
when  she  said  so !  Her  eyes  ran  over  at  the  remem- 
brance. What  if — if  he  did  not  love  her  as  much  as 
formerly  !  Her  heart  stopped  beating.  Anything  but 
that !  Anything !  Anything ! 

She  must  try  and  persuade  him  without  irritating 
him.  He  was  so  easily  irritated  now.  He  had  been 
away  for  three  days  and  had  just  come  back,  and  he 
seemed  almost  angry  when  she  questioned  him  about 
where  he  had  been  and  what  he  had  done.  Oh,  dear ! 
Life  was  hard.  It  did  not  grow  any  easier  as  one  grew 
older.  Walter  was  sleeping  very  late  this  morning. 
By  and  by  she  would  make  one  more  effort.  She  sim- 
ply must  go  home.  There  he  was  now  coming  around 
the  corner  of  the  house. 

She  met  him  with  a  smile  and  a  cheerful  "Good 
morning,"  noticing  that  he  looked  very  tired.  But  she 
would  not  tell  him  so — he  did  not  like  it. 

He  threw  himself  down  upon  the  ground  at  her  side, 
with  his  back  against  the  tree,  and  stretched  his  arms 
in  a  prodigious  yawn. 

"  Warm,  isn't  it  ? "  he  said. 

She  stroked  his  hair  and  patted  his  face  gently. 


189 


"  I  think  it  is  warmer  here  than  where  we  were  be- 
fore," she  replied. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  while  I  was  gone  ? "  he 
continued,  turning  his  face  further  toward  her.  He 
liked  to  be  petted. 

"  Oh,  nothing  much !  Reading  and  sewing.  There 
is  nothing  to  do."  And  there  crept  a  mournful  tone 
into  her  voice. 

"  You've  got  enough  to  do  to  get  well." 

"  But,  Walter,  I  can't  get  well  when  I  am  so  home- 
sick ! "  she  burst  out  impulsively.  She  could  restrain 
her  desire  no  longer.  "  I  do  so  long  to  go  home !  And 
I  shall  be  worse  if  I  do  not  go  !  I  know  I  shall !  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  swimming  eyes  as  he  got  up 
from  the  ground  and  began  to  pace  impatiently  back- 
ward and  forward,  muttering  something  she  did  not 
hear. 

"  Do,  Walter,  please  go  home !  "  she  entreated.  "  We 
have  been  away  nearly  a  year  now,  and  the  time  seems 
so  long." 

He  seemed  to  take  a  sudden  resolution,  stopped  in 
his  walk,  and  faced  her  doggedly. 

"  It's  no  use,  Emma ;  we  can't  go  home.  I've  sold  the 
house." 

Sold  the  house !  She  looked  at  him  speechlessly. 
What  did  he  mean  ? 

"  I  needed  money  and  had  to  do  it." 

Needed  money !  She  was  conscious  only  of  the  echo 
of  his  words. 

"  Don't  stare  at  me  so !  "  he  exclaimed  impatiently. 

Their  meaning  began  to  penetrate  her  consciousness, 
and  a  sharp  pain  smote  her. 


190 


"  Sold  the  house !  "  she  exclaimed  faintly.  "  You  do 
not  really  mean  it,  Walter  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  mean  it,"  he  replied  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who,  having  something  disagreeable  to  do,  means  to 
get  it  over  with  as  quickly  as  possible. 

"Why  did  you  seU  it?" 

"I  told  you,  didn't  I,  that  I  had  to  have  money?" 

"  But — but  I  don't  understand,"  she  continued  with 
quivering  lips. 

He  faced  her  determinedly. 

"See  here,  Emma.  The  matter  is  very  simple.  I 
needed  money  and  I  had  to  sell  the  house  to  get  it. 
That  is  all  there  is  to  it,  and  you  might  as  well  make 
the  best  of  it." 

His  authoritative  tone  and  manner  roused  a  new 
feeling  in  her. 

"  But  it  is  my  house,"  she  said  with  an  emphasis  on 
the  possessive  pronoun  she  had  never  used  in  all  her 
married  life. 

"  Can't  help  that,"  was  his  brief  comment. 

"  But  how  could  you  sell  it,  when  it  is  mine  ? " 

"  You  signed  the  necessary  papers  some  time  ago,'' 
he  replied,  looking  beside  her,  around  her,  anywhere 
but  at  her  face. 

Swiftly  came  to  her  the  remembrance  of  the  time 
when  he  had  brought  her  some  papers  with  the  request 
for  her  signature,  and  his  impatience  at  her  delay  and 
inquisitiveness  over  "a  mere  matter  of  form."  Had 
she,  without  knowing  it,  given  away  the  home  endeared 
to  her  by  so  many  associations  ?  Had  he  allowed — no, 
compelled  her  to  do  it  ? 

A  mixture  of  emotions  possessed  her.  Her  home 
gone,  her  life  narrower  than  ever  without  the  hope  of 


191 


returning  to  it,  her  trust  in  her  husband  shaken,  a  for- 
lorn helplessness  seized  her.  Why  had  he — could  he 
have  done  this  ?  She  looked  at  him  as  he  stood  for  a 
moment,  then  paced  restlessly  up  and  down,  biting  his 
lips  and  snapping  his  fingers  nervously.  What  was 
the  matter?  What  could  it  be?  Was  this  her  hus- 
band ?  Where  then  was  the  money  ? 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  the  truth  when  I  asked 
you  what  those  papers  meant?"  she  asked,  trying  to 
speak  quietly  but  looking  at  him  reproachfully. 

"  Because,  Emma,  you  were  not  well,  you  would  not 
have  understood — women  never  do  understand  the  ex- 
igencies of  business.  I  thought  it  better  you  should 
not  know  then,"  he  replied  with  an  air  of  relief .  "  I 
would  not  have  told  you  now  but  you  give  me  no  peace 
when  I  am  trying  to  save  you  all  I  can."  And  now 
the  reproach  was  with  him. 

Her  heart  smote  her.     Was  she  unjust? 

"But  what  have  you  done  with  the  money?"  she 
asked  appealiiigly. 

A  disinterested  third  party  would  have  seen  that  he 
was  bracing  himself  as  he  prepared  to  reply. 

"  I  got  into  difficulties  through  the  failure  of  others 
to  meet  payments  when  they  were  due.  I  could  not 
collect  what  was  owing  to  me  fast  enough  to  meet  the 
demands  upon  me.  The  whole  matter  is  involved  and 
intricate,  and  I  am  sure  you  would  not  see  all  clearly, 
however  carefully  I  might  explain  it  to  you.  Can  you 
not  have  confidence  enough  in  me,  Emma,  to  know  that 
it  was  best  to  do  as  I  did,  or  I  would  not  have  done  it  ? 
You  love  your  husband,  don't  you  ? " 

Did  she  not  love  him  ?  Was  he  not  her  world  ?  Of 
course  he  knew  better  than  she.  Was  she  not  wrong 


to  feel  even  a  momentary  suspicion  that  all  was  not  as 
it  should  be — was  not  right  ?  If  only  he  had  not  failed 
so  many  times  to  keep  his  word — had  not  made  her 
feel,  do  what  she  would,  when  he  went  away  and  she 
said  "  Good-by,"  that  it  was  very  doubtful  if  he  would 
return  when  he  promised ! 

She  wanted  to  believe  him,  to  trust  him  fully,  abso- 
lutely. Why  was  it  difficult  to  do  it  ?  After  all,  what- 
ever his  faults,  he  loved  her  devotedly.  No  one  could 
be  to  him  what  she  was.  This  he  had  assured  her 
again  and  again.  And  had  he  not  gone  away  with  her 
uncomplainingly  when  it  was  for  her  good  to  go  and 
let  his  business  interests  suffer  in  consequence  ? 

So  she  reasoned  within  herself,  swayed  between  her 
love  and  her  bitter  surprise  and  disappointment,  while 
he  watched  her  furtively. 

"  Of  course  you  must  have  felt  it  necessary  to  sell 
the  house,  Walter,  or  you  would  not  have  done  it,"  she 
began.  "I  do  not  suppose  I  am  able  to  understand 
all  the  details  of  your  business  affairs,  but  I  think  I 
could  understand  a  great  deal  if  you  would  explain 
them  to  me.  It  does  not  matter  just  now,"  she  added 
as  she  saw  the  impatient  expression  come  again  on  his 
face,  "  but  one  thing  I  do  want — must  insist  upon.  I 
want  to  go  back  to  Benton.  If  our  home  is  gone,"  and 
her  lips  quivered  again,  "  we  can  hire  a  house  or  board 
for  a  time." 

"I  do  not  think  we  had  better  go  back  just  yet,"  he 
began,  but  she  interrupted  him. 

"I  cannot  help  it,  Walter.  I  want  to  go  back.  I 
will  not  stay  here  any  longer." 


She  spoke  with  a  decision  he  had  never  seen  in  her 
before.  It  both  surprised  and  offended  him. 

"Hold  on,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "Gentleness  is  a 
woman's  chief  charm." 

What  his  remark  suggested  was  the  last  straw.  She 
broke  out  in  a  passionate  sobbing. 

"There,  There,  Emma!  Don't  cry  so!  It'll  all 
come  right.  I  shall  make  plenty  of  money  by  and  by 
and  then  I'll  buy  the  place  back  again.  Come !  Don't 
take  on  this  way !  " 

With  much  coaxing  and  petting  on  his  part  she 
filially  became  calmer  when  he  assured  her  that  in  a 
few  weeks  at  the  latest  they  would  go  back  to  Beiiton. 
He  induced  her  to  go  up-stairs  and  lie  down  for  a 
while,  breathing  a  sigh  of  relief  as  she  disappeared 
within  doors. 

"  Thank  Heaven,  that's  over ! "  he  said  to  himself. 
"I've  got  out  of  it  better  than  I  expected.  Hang 
women,  anyhow ! " 

She  laid  her  head  wearily  on  the  pillow.  Were  they 
really  homeless  ? 

Well !  And  if  so  ?  At  least  she  had  him  and  he  was 
all  her  own,  she  was  the  only  woman  in  the  world  for 
him.  How  often  he  had  assured  her  of  this !  She  grew 
more  quiet.  She  was  exhausted  with  the  violence  of 
her  feelings,  the  shock  she  had  experienced.  Suddenly 
she  was  in  the  church  in  which  she  had  been  married. 
She  was  coming  down  the  aisle  in  her  bridal  robe  and 
veil,  leaning  on  her  newly  made  husband's  arm.  The 
death-like  faintness  seized  her,  the  sense  of  falling 
down,  down  into  darkness  and — 


194 


She  sprang  up.  The  sunshine  was  streaming  into 
the  room,  which  she  saw  by  the  clock  she  had  entered 
only  half  an  hour  before.  Had  she  been  asleep  ?  Had 
that  experience  been  an  omen,  a  prediction  of  her 
future  life  ?  Was  it  being  fulfilled  ?  "Was  there  such  a 
thing  as  fate  ?  Was  her  life  to  go  out  in  darkness  ? 


CHAPTER  XX. 

EVERETT  sat  in  Helen's  parlor  awaiting  her.  He  had 
reached  a  momentous  decision  which  gave  an  added 
touch  of  gravity  to  his  expression. 

Endeavoring  to  hold  persistently  to  his  desire  and 
intention  to  do  only  what  was  best  and  right,  not  al- 
lowing himself  to  be  unduly  swayed  by  the  charm  of 
Helen's  beauty  and  seductiveness,  he  had  decided  that 
the  unity  of  their  three  lives  through  marriage  with 
Helen  was  the  course  of  action  productive  of  the  great- 
est good  to  the  greatest  number. 

He  intended  to  propose  to  her  this  evening  and  had 
no  doubt  whatever  of  the  result ;  for,  without  egotism, 
he  could  not  help  but  see  that  she  was  his  for  the  ask- 
ing. In  a  thousand  ways  she  showed  him  her  prefer- 
ence, the  difference  between  what  he  was  to  her  and 
other  men.  He  could  have  understood  this  in  view  of 
their  early  relations,  but  there  was  more ;  a  tenderness 
in  her  intercourse  with  him  which  she  took  no  pains  to 
conceal  when  they  were  alone,  a  tenderness  which  had 
cost  him  many  a  struggle,  which  assured  him  he  was 
more  to  her  now  than  any  other  could  be,  even  apart 
from  that  early  experience. 

Although  his  mind  was  fully  made  up,  another  ele- 
ment tinged  his  feelings,  preventing  them  from  being 

195 


196 


those  of  the  happy  and  assured  lover.  He  was  not 
satisfied.  Though  his  reason  gave  consent  and  he  loved 
Helen — yes,  he  was  sure  he  loved  her — some  part  of 
him,  something  within  him,  still  clamored.  An  ideal 
had  grown  with  him  which  was  so  far  beyond  this  mar- 
riage. Something  sacred  and  apart  from  the  common 
ways  of  men,  yet  entering  into  the  commonest  acts  of 
every-day  life.  Another  world  for  two  in  one,  the  com- 
mon world  for  one  in  two.  But  it  was  veiled  in  the  mist 
of  the  improbable,  the  unlikely.  Let  him  cherish  it 
where  alone  it  could  exist,  in  that  inner  world  where 
he  was  creator,  in  whose  fair  temple  he  remained  the 
worshiper,  the  adorer. 

He  heard  Helen's  light  footfall  in  the  room  above. 
Soon  she  would  descend,  the  step  would  be  taken,  the 
future  faced.  A  few  moments,  a  few  words,  a  mere 
breath,  and  a  change  of  one's  whole  future  life. 

For  better  ?  For  worse  ?  For  good  always,  whate'er 
the  surface.  Through  mistake  the  good  was  found,  and 
it  triumphed  always. 

Up-stairs  Helen  was  preparing  to  meet  her  lover. 
Lover?  Yes,  he  was  her  lover.  She  had  made  up  her 
mind  that  he  should  be,  and  she  had  never  failed  when 
she  directed  her  best  efforts  to  that  end.  She  wondered 
if  she  would  really  marry  him  when  he  asked  her  to — 
which  he  was  sure  to  do.  Wondered  if  she  could  give 
up  what  was  a  breath  of  life  to  her,  the  constantly 
planned  artifice  by  which  she  extorted  the  open  admira- 
tion that  as  constantly  fed  her  vanity.  For  this  grave, 
stern  Everett  Long  would  brook  no  coquetry  with 
other  men.  He  was  sure  to  be  very  exacting.  She 
was  not  sure  if  it  would  be  really  worth  while.  Yet 


197 


he  was  very  fascinating.  In  some  queer  way,  do  what 
she  would,  he  was  continually  out  of  her  reach. 

But  one  thing  she  was  fully  decided  upon,  she  could 
bear  delay  no  longer.  She  would  know  about  that  boy, 
about  his  mother.  The  longer  she  knew  him,  the  more 
strangely  he  affected  her.  She  was  drawn  to  him  with 
a  feeling  she  could  not  define — like  a  savage  instinct  to 
defend  him  if  one  attacked  him,  and  yet  she  would  have 
treated  him  as  savagely  herself  if  she  followed  her 
sometime  inclination.  He  was  a  boy,  nothing  but  a 
boy,  she  told  herself,  and  yet  once  he  had  made  her 
flesh  creep. 

When  he  was  visiting  her  for  a  few  days  during  his 
father's  temporary  absence  from  the  city,  she  had  come 
home  from  a  dinner-party  late  in  the  evening  and 
found  him  still  up.  She  had  sat  with  him  for  a  few 
moments,  and  he  had  drawn  nearer  and  nearer  to  her 
till  he  was  close  beside  her,  finally  putting  out  his  hand 
toward  her.  She  had  thought  it  was  to  touch  the 
jewels  she  wore,  for  they  always  seemed  to  fascinate 
him,  but  he  had  laid  it  instead  upon  her  bare  shoulder, 
sliding  it  along  with  a  touch  and  a  look  which  filled 
her  with  a  sudden  horror  and  made  her  spring  up  with 
a  sharp  command  to  "  Go  to  bed — immediately !  " 
which  he  had  sulkily  obeyed. 

The  vague  attraction  he  had  for  her,  mingled  with 
her  aversion  and  her  intensified  curiosity — for  she  had 
found  out  from  him  where  he  had  lived  in  his  childhood, 
and  it  was  the  place  vivid  in  her  memory  which  she 
wished  most  of  all  to  forget — made  her  determined 
without  further  delay,  this  very  night  even,  to  know 
whose  cluld  he  was.  But  she  must  use  tact.  Everett 


198 


was  not  a  man  to  be  driven.  So  far  he  had  avoided 
every  effort  she  had  made. 

Through  the  richly  draped  doorway  Helen  entered 
and  came  slowly  toward  him.  Everett  thought  he  had 
never  seen  her  more  lovely.  Even  in  daylight  she  did 
not  show  her  age,  and  in  the  dim  rose-tinted  light  of 
the  room  she  was  very  young  and  fair.  The  softly 
falling  clinging  white  robe  she  always  wore  when  re- 
ceiving him  showed  every  line  and  curve  of  her  beau- 
tiful form,  giving  an  added  grace  to  her  movements  as 
it  trailed  after  her  noiseless  step  on  the  rich  rug  be- 
neath her  little  golden-sandaled  feet.  Her  only  orna- 
ment was  a  jeweled  girdle — Everett  did  not  share  her 
liking  for  a  profusion  of  gems — and  a  single  glowing 
red  rose  in  her  bosom.  His  blood  stirred  more  quickly 
as  he  looked  at  her  and  took  in  both  his  own  her  prof- 
fered hand. 

"  If  it  were  possible,  you  grow  more  beautiful  every 
day,  Helen,"  he  said. 

She  laughed — a  pleased  little  laugh. 

"  I  like  you  to  think  me  beautiful,  Everett,"  she  said 
with  a  slight  emphasis  on  the  "  you."  "  I  am  so  glad 
you  have  come  this  evening.  I  want  to  consult  you 
upon  some  investments  that  are  turning  out  badly. 
You  always  have  such  good  advice  to  give !  I  do  not 
know  what  I  should  do  without  you." 

"All  of  which  I  am  capable,  Helen,  is  at  your  ser- 
vice," he  replied  as  he  seated  himself  at  her  side.  She 
drew  the  folds  of  her  dress  away  to  make  room  for  his 
chair  close,  very  close  to  her  own.  "  What  is  it  ? " 

She  explained  her  affairs  to  him  unreservedly.  She 
knew  she  could  trust  Jiim,  He  entered  into  them  with 


199 


an  interest  which  was  unfeigned,  considered  carefully, 
and  counseled  her  as  wisely  as  he  knew  how.  She 
knew  that  whatever  the  future  relations  between  them, 
her  interests  were  safe  in  his  hands;  that  her  own 
would  be  her  own  as  his  wife  as  much  as  if  she  were 
single.  On  the  financial  side  she  could  appreciate  the 
broadness,  the  generosity  of  his  nature. 

It  was  a  glorious  evening  without.  The  light  of  the 
full  moon  streamed  into  the  room  and  mingled  with 
the  semi-darkness  Helen  so  much  liked.  The  perfume 
of  roses  laded  the  air.  She  was  never  without  them, 
summer  or  winter.  She  liked  to  surround  herself 
with  them,  to  sink  into  the  dreamland  created  by  her 
own  fancies  added  to  their  beguiling.  They  lulled  her 
into  a  delicious  sensitiveness,  wafted  her  to  a  region 
where  she  knew  only  love,  nothing  but  a  rose-hued, 
rose-scented,  intoxicating  love.  Not  a  shadow,  not  an 
insufficiency,  not  a  pang.  Only  a  ceaseless  soul  and 
body  compelling  love.  Ah!  Love  was  the  master 
passion  beside  which  everything  else  sank  into  insig- 
nificance. 

The  time  slipped  rapidly  by  and  the  subtle  suggestion 
of  their  surroundings,  their  isolation  for  the  moment, 
stole  over  them  both.  Sweet,  maddeningly  sweet  as  it 
was  to  her,  she  did  not  forget  her  purpose.  Something 
in  her,  she  did  not  know  what,  was  too  deeply  roused. 
That  boy  haunted  her  continually.  Yet  she  thrilled  in 
every  fibre  as  she  pressed  closer  to  her  companion  and 
looked  in  his  face  with  a  fervor  which  compelled  a 
response  as  she  murmured,  "You  are  so  good  to  me, 
Everett !  So  good !  " 

He  looked  down  at  her,  at  the  exquisite  face  uplifted 


200 


to  his,  with  her  head  slightly  thrown  back,  which  even 
as  he  looked  sank  to  his  shoulder  and  remained  there. 

What  a  world  of  delight  was  in  her  softly  glowing 
eyes,  her  ripe  sweet  mouth,  her  velvety  cheeks,  the  full 
voluptuous  bust  which  rose  and  fell  with  waves  of  feel- 
ing so  near  his  heart !  Her  warm  breath  played  over 
his  face;  one  little  hand  stole  up  and  lost  itself  in  the 
waves  of  his  hair. 

He  could  not  help  it.  He  threw  both  arms  around 
her  and  strained  her  to  him,  his  lips  on  hers,  drinking 
up  her  luscious  beauty  in  one  long  passionate  draught 
as  with  a  thirst  that  could  never  be  satiated.  She  did 
not  stir.  She  lay  in  them  well  content,  her  arm  around 
his  neck,  till  he  finally  raised  his  head  and  moved  as  if 
to  place  her  gently  in  her  chair. 

His  other 'self  warned  him  of  the  necessity  of  com- 
mand. He  felt  more  than  ever  the  discretion  of  his 
contemplated  proposal.  He  was  about  to  speak,  the 
words  were  on  his  lips,  when  she  resisted  his  motion, 
drew  her  arm  more  tenderly  about  his  neck,  turned  his 
face  close  to  her  own  with  her  other  hand,  and  whis- 
pered in  his  ear : 

"  I  want  to  know  something  so  much,  Everett !  Tell 
me,  won't  you?  Promise  me!"  and  pressed  her  lips 
cooingly  to  his  neck  just  below. 

She  was  so  coaxingly  childish,  so  womanly  tender  ! 

He  responded  readily,  "  Certainly  I  will,  Helen,  if  I 
can." 

"  Tell  me,  then,  of  your  child's  mother,"  she  con- 
tinued without  stirring.  "  Whose  son  is  he  ? " 

A  pang  like  a  shot  went  through  his  heart.  She  felt 
him  start,  but  held  him  the  closer.  Her  question  was  en- 


201 


tirely  unexpected.  He  had  not  had  the  faintest  idea 
she  would  ask  this — now.  What  should  he  do?  He 
had  intended  to  tell  her  all  afterward.  But  perhaps  he 
was  taking  an  unfair  advantage  to  keep  her  in  igno- 
rance of  her  relation  to  the  boy.  She  had  demanded  it ; 
he  would  speak.  With  a  purpose  she  could  not  resist 
he  raised  her  and  moved  a  little  from  her. 

A  Delilah — without  conscious  intent  on  his  part  she 
received  a  Delilah's  reward. 

He  looked  her  steadily  in  the  face  as  he  answered  in 
a  quiet,  penetrating  tone,  "Your  own  !  " 

A  cannon  had  boomed  near  her  and  left  her  stunned, 
deafened,  helpless.  Or  was  it  a  knife  thrust  some- 
where in  her  very  vitals  that  deprived  her  of  speech, 
of  breath  ?  She  could  not  move.  With  hands  lying 
nerveless  in  her  lap  she  could  only  look  at  him,  power- 
less to  take  her  eyes  from  his  face,  her  own  growing 
white  and  whiter  with  the  blood  driven  back  to  her 
la-art. 

A  wave  of  pity  broke  up  its  sternness  as  he  saw  the 
horror  and  dread  in  her  eyes ;  a  desire  to  comfort  her  in 
spite  of  the  revulsion  of  feeling  he  experienced  as  he 
comprehended  her  calculation  under  the  guise  of  an 
all-compelling  tenderness.  Slowly  and  dispassionately, 
without  a  suggestion  of  reproach  at  her  abandonment 
of  the  child,  he  told  her  the  boy's  history  as  he  knew  it 
up  to  the  time  he  had  met  him,  of  their  meeting  in  the 
horse-car  and  in  the  hospital,  Paul's  revelation,  and  his 
subsequent  procedure. 

"  When  I  met  you  here,"  he  went  on,  "  and  you  re- 
quested me  to  let  the  past  go  as  if  it  never  had  been,  I 
made  up  my  mind  not  to  tell  you  of  him.  I  could  un- 


202 


derstand  what  the  knowledge  would  be  to  you.  I  had 
no  desire  to  bring  you  pain,  perhaps  great  suffering.  I 
knew  you  could  have  no  special  affection  for  him,  hav- 
ing never  had  him  with  you  from  his  birth.  You  had 
far  more  to  lose  through  acknowledgment  of  his  par- 
entage than  I.  For  me  the  worst  was  already  over." 

He  waited  a  moment,  but  she  did  not  speak.  She 
moved  feebly  in  her  chair  as  if  in  a  painful  position 
but  without  strength  to  change  it. 

He  was  about  to  resume,  to  assure  her  of  his  inten- 
tion to  continue  as  he  had  begun,  when  suddenly,  be- 
fore he  could  realize  what  she  was  about  to  do,  she 
flung  herself  on  the  floor  at  his  feet,  clasping  his  kn« •< -s 
in  her  arms ;  and  in  a  tone  of  agonized  entreaty,  yet 
hushed  as  if  fearful  of  being  overheard,  she  exclaimed : 

"O  Everett!  Don't  tell!  Promise  me — swear  to 
me  you  will  never,  never  tell !  " 

The  reaction  had  set  in  and  she  was  nearly  frantic. 
No  rush  of  long-restrained  mother-love,  no  relief  from 
knowing  at  last  the  fate  of  the  child  she  had  aban- 
doned ;  only  the  fear  of  exposure,  of  disgrace  for  her- 
self. 

He  attempted  to  raise  her,  but  she  shuddered  out  of 
his  hands,  repeating  gaspingly,  "  Promise  me !  Prom- 
ise me ! " 

"  Be  quiet,  Helen,  and  listen  a  moment.  Do  you  not 
know  me  well  enough  to  know  you  have  nothing  to 
fear  from  me?"  and  he  took  hold  of  her  shoulders 
authoritatively.  "  Let  me  help  you  to  your  chair.  I 
cannot  talk  with  you  while  you  are  in  this  position." 

She  let  him  raise  her  from  the  floor  and  remain  <•<! 
submissively  in  the  chair  in  which  he  placed  her.  Even 


in  the  excitement  and  stress  of  the  moment  he  was 
struck  with  the  change  in  her.  She  had  aged  ten  years 
in  five  minutes.  Even  the  rose-tinted  light  could  not 
hide  it.  The  sculptor  Fear  had  carved  lines  in  her 
beautiful  face  with  a  few  instantaneous  strokes  that 
successfully  banished  its  soft  witchery.  Tears  were 
rolling  down  her  cheeks,  which  she  made  no  effort  to 
wipe  away.  Her  abject  misery  touched  him.  But  he 
had  lost  all  desire  to  sit  close  to  her,  to  take  her  in  his 
arms. 

"  You  need  fear  nothing  from  me,  Helen,"  he  re- 
peated gently.  "For  you  the  future  can  be  what  the 
past  has  been.  I  have  charged  myself  with  his  care 
and  the  responsibility  which  accompanies  parents  ire." 

She  gave  a  great  sigh  of  relief  as  she  passed  her  hand 
wearily  over  her  brow  and  hair.  Thank  God !  that 
d linger  was  past.  She  knew  he  would  keep  his  word. 
Her  load  began  to  lighten. 

All  at  once  she  heard  footsteps  in  her  room  immedi- 
ately above  them.  She  had  told  her  maid  not  to  sit  up 
for  her.  and  no  one  else  had  a  right  to  be  in  the  room. 
Slu«  glanced  at  the  eloek.  It  was  late,  nearly  twelve. 
A  sudden  thought  seemed  to  strike  her.  With  a  hasty 
"Wait  a  moment"  she  left  the  room  and  ran  noise- 
lessly up-stairs. 

Some  one  darted  to  the  window  as  she  reached  the 
door  of  her  chamber,  the  window  which  she  had  always 
feared  might  afford  an  entrance  to  the  room  because  of 
the  win4  trellis  by  which  a  honeysuckle  grew.  A  quick 
glance  at  the  place  where  her  jewels  were  kept.  The 
door  was  open  and  in  the  hand  of  the  one  climbing 
through  the  window — great  God!  it  was  Raymond 


204 


Long ! — she  saw  something  glitter.  Even  as  she  looked, 
in  that  brief  instant  which  is  no  time,  a  pendant  fell 
through  his  fingers  to  the  floor. 

With  a  scream  she  sprang  forward.  Her  dearly 
loved  treasures  were  in  danger.  Their  threatened  loss 
swallowed  up  every  other  thought,  every  feeling.  She 
clutched  frantically  at  the  hand  which  held  them,  tear- 
ing his  flesh  with  her  nails. 

He  was  balanced  on  the  window-sill,  reaching  with 
his  disengaged  hand  for  the  trellis.  The  pain,  added 
to  his  detection  and  the  probable  loss  of  that  for  which 
he  had  risked  so  much,  maddened  him,  and  bending 
his  head  quick  as  a  flash  he  set  his  teeth  in  the  hand 
tearing  at  his  own. 

Like  a  wounded  tigress  she  glared  at  him,  struggling 
to  release  her  hand,  her  efforts  raising  his  head  so  that 
his  eyes  in  turn  glared  into  her  own,  his  lips  drawn 
back  in  a  wolfish  snarl  as  his  strong  white  teeth  re- 
mained fixed  in  her  flesh.  With  a  quick  movement  she 
wound  her  other  hand  in  his  thick  wavy  hair,  twisting 
it  so  fiercely  he  loosened  his  jaws,  and  at  the  same 
instant  she  gave  him  a  violent  push  from  her. 

With  a  curse  which  struck  her  face  with  the  hiss 
and  venom  of  a  serpent  his  hand  lost  its  hold  of  the 
trellis  and  he  fell.  She  heard  the  crash  as  his  head 
struck  the  stone  flagging  below. 

It  was  all  done  so  quickly  that  though  Everett  heard 
the  scream  and  bounded  up  the  stairs  he  was  just  in 
time  to  see  the  form  disappear  from  the  window- 
sill  while  Helen  leaned  far  out  with  her  hands  resting 
upon  it. 

In  one,  tightly  clenched,  was  a  lock  of  brown  hair, 


the  other  was  covered  with  Mood.  Scattered  over  the 
floor  around  her  were  glittering  jewels.  He  sprang  to 
her  side. 

On  the  walk  below,  in  the  silvery  moonlight — the 
same  moonlight  which  a  few  moments  ago  had  helped 
to  weave  a  spell  about  him — lay  his  son,  his  face  up- 
turned to  their  own,  silent  and  motionless.  He  looked 
at  Helen.  She  was  glaring  down  upon  him  with  a 
searching,  eager  expression  as  if  seeking  for  something. 
A  moment,  one  horror-struck  moment,  and  the  boy's 
eyes  slowly  opened  and  fixed  themselves  upon  her  face. 

"  Damn  you !  You've  killed — "  came  in  faint  tones 
to  their  ears,  and  all  was  still. 

From  the  window  above,  the  father  and  mother 
looked  down  upon  their  dead  child. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  time  was  drawing  near  for  the  address  so  many 
were  eager  to  hear.  It  would  be  worth  listening  to, 
whatever  the  views  of  the  listener.  Miriam  Hartwell 
had  proved  her  intellectual  mastery  and  wonderful 
ability  too  often  to  leave  any  doubt  with  those  who 
knew  her  of  what  she  could  do. 

It  had  been  postponed  once  on  account  of  her  illness, 
something  which  had  never  occurred  with  her  before. 
She  prided  herself  on  her  robust  health  and  on  the  fact 
that  she  had  never  yet  broken  an  engagement.  The 
postponement  had  been  a  great  trial  to  her.  She  had 
found  it  hard  to  bear.  She  found  herself  unable  to 
bear  much  that  formerly  passed  unnoticed.  Little 
things  fretted  her.  She  was  nervous — she  who  had 
laughed  at  "women's  nerves" — depressed,  and  some- 
times filled  with  forebodings.  In  some  indefinable  way 
the  ground  on  which  she  had  stood  securely  for  so  many 
years  seemed  slipping  from  under  her  feet.  She  laughed 
at  and  rallied  herself,  only  to  feel  after  a  time  the  same 
loss  of  energy  and  depression. 

She  had  experienced  a  great  shock  in  the  death  of 
Raymond  Long  and  the  manner  of  it,  which  had  made 
a  sensation  in  Benton.  He  had  fallen  and  been  killed 
in  the  attempt  to  rob  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Cunningham 

206 


207 


of  her  jewels.  Who  would  have  thought  that  one  so 
young  could  have  been  capable  of  such  depravity ! 

She  was  very  sorry  for  his  father.  Indeed  she  could 
not  get  his  father  out  of  her  mind.  Why  did  her 
thoughts  dwell  upon  him  so  continually?  Why  did 
she  begin  to  long — yes,  long — for  his  presence,  his  com- 
panionship f  Why  at  times  did  a  sense  of  desolation 
creep  over  her,  almost  paralyzing  her  energies  ?  Why 
did  the  honors  she  had  gained,  for  which  she  had 
striven  so  hard,  fail  to  satisfy  her?  Once  she  would 
have  thought  the  position  which  was  hers  to-day  the 
height  of  happiness.  And  now  there  was  something  in 
it,  or  something  not  in  it — she  did  not  know  which — 
that  almost  sickened  her.  She  had  coveted  power.  She 
had  power.  And  yet  she  had  a  vague  presentiment 
that  it  would  fail  her  when  she  needed  it  most ;  prove 
insufficient  at  some  crucial  period.  She  would  not  care 
so  much  if  he — 

Nonsense  !  She  had  worked  all  her  life  for  a  certain 
definite  end  and  it  could  not  fail  her.  She  was  getting 
sentimental.  She,  of  all  women  !  A  weakness  she  de- 
spised !  Where  was  the  leader  now — the  deliverer  of 
women  from  bondage  ? 

So  she  argued  with  herself,  and  the  day  of  the  ad- 
dress, which  was  to  be  given  in  the  evening,  found 
her  with  her  nerves  strung  to  an  unbearable  tension. 
Everything  was  ready,  her  manuscript  carefully  pre- 
pared ;  and  word  had  come  that  every  seat  in  the  hall 
was  sold.  What  more  could  a  woman  want?  The 
simple  announcement  of  her  name  and  subject  had 
been  sufficient  to  sell  the  house.  What  a  comfortable 
sum  the  League  would  have  in  its  treasury ! 


208 


As  the  day  wore  on  she  became  positively  ill.  A 
deadly  faintness  and  nausea  seized  her,  and  at  six 
o'clock  she  could  not  leave  her  bed.  Her  father  did  all 
in  his  power  for  her,  sent  for  a  brother  practitioner, 
but  their  combined  efforts  were  not  sufficient  to  put 
her  on  her  feet  again.  He  was  almost  beside  himself. 
His  cherished  daughter  in  whom  he  took  so  much  pride  ! 
He  had  never  seen  her  like  this.  And  so  much  depend- 
ing upon  her  too.  A  second  postponement  might  be 
fatal.  The  public  was  apt  to  be  fickle.  What  was  to 
be  done  ? 

Seven  o'clock  came  and  there  was  no  avoiding  the 
fact  that  she  would  be  unable  to  leave  home.  There 
was  no  help  for  it — Miriam  herself  proposed  that  Sarah 
should  take  the  manuscript  and  fill  her  place  as  best 
she  could.  It  would  never  do  to  dismiss  the  assembled 
audience,  and  she  had  taken  such  pains,  the  manuscript 
was  perfectly  clear,  no  interpolations  or  interlinings. 

Sarah,  it  was  true,  was  not  accustomed  to  public 
speaking,  but  she  was  familiar  with  her  sister's  line  of 
thought  and  would  be  able  to  read  intelligently.  It 
was  the  best  that  could  be  done.  Sarah  was  very  re- 
luctant to  fill  the  role  assigned  her.  She  shrank  from 
publicity,  was  not  in  full  sympathy  with  Miriam's 
views,  feared  she  could  not  do  them  justice  or  fill  with 
any  degree  of  accuracy  her  sister's  place.  But  she  had 
all  sympathy  for  her  and  for  her  father's  fear  that  her 
sister's  usefulness  would  suffer,  and  consented  to  do  the 
best  she  could. 

Accompanied  by  one  of  the  maids,  she  went  away 
in  the  carriage  that  had  come  for  Miriam,  leaving  her 
wrestling  with  the  prostration  which  had  overtaken 


209 


her.  A  crowd  was  pouring  into  the  main  entrance  of 
the  hall  as  she  passed  it  on  her  way  to  the  one  leading 
to  the  platform.  Some  one  opened  the  door  as  the  car- 
riage stopped. 

"  Why,  Paul !  "  she  exclaimed  in  surprise  as  she  saw 
his  face.  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you !  I  did  not  know 
you  had  got  back !  " 

He  pressed  her  hands  affectionately  and  helped  her 
to  alight  as  he  said,  "I  arrived  only  this  morning," 
adding  affirmatively,  "Your  sister  is  ill." 

She  did  not  ask  him  how  he  knew  this.  She  knew 
him. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  simply.  "  I  am  to  take  her 
place  as  best  I  can." 

He  went  with  her  to  the  room  adjoining  the  platform, 
where  one  of  the  most  prominent  citizens  of  Benton, 
who  was  to  make  the  introductory  remarks,  and  repre- 
sentatives of  various  organizations,  were  awaiting  her 
sister.  The  surprise  in  their  faces  as  they  saw  Miriam 
was  not  with  her  changed  to  disappointment  and  per- 
plexity when  they  heard  the  reason  for  her  absence. 
Thrir  well-bred  attempts  to  suppress  their  feelings  did 
not  reassure  her.  But  if  the  proposed  arrangement 
caused  them  fear  for  the  results,  what  was  their  dismay 
when  Sarah  suddenly  exclaimed,  "  Where  is  the  manu- 
script ?  "  when  after  all  her  efforts  to  find  it,  to  which 
they  added  their  own,  and  the  hurried  exit  of  the 
prominent  citizen  to  examine  the  way  by  which  she 
had  come  and  the  carriage  as  well,  had  been  barren  of 
results  1 

Sarah  tried  to  think  where  or  how  she  could  have 
lost  it.  The  carriage  door  had  opened  once  on  the  way, 


210 


and  she  had  leaned  forward  and  closed  it.  It  must 
have  dropped  out  then.  A  strong  wind  was  blowing 
and  there  were  but  few  chances  it  could  be  found  even 
if  it  were  not  already  past  the  advertised  hour  and  the 
audience  manifesting  signs  of  impatience.  "What  was 
to  be  done?  The  prominent  citizen  was  advising  the 
dismissal  of  the  audience  as  the  only  thing  possible, 
when  Paul  said  in  a  low  tone  to  Sarah : 

"  Go  and  speak  to  these  people  yourself.  You  have 
a  message  for  them.  You  have  not  sought  the  oppor- 
tunity. It  has  come  to  you." 

She  looked  at  him  amazed  as  if  she  could  not  have 
understood  his  words. 

"  I  ? "  she  said  incredulously. 

He  returned  her  look  with  one  of  quiet  confidence. 

"Yes!     You!" 

"  Why,  Paul !  what  do  you  mean  ? "  she  gasped. 
"  You  know  I  never  spoke  a  word  in  public  in  my  life." 

"  Well !  Why  should  you  not  make  a  beginning  ? " 
he  replied,  still  quietly  and  confidently. 

"  But  I  cannot !  You  know  I  cannot !  "  she  insisted, 
while  her  color  came  and  went  rapidly  and  she  trem- 
bled at  the  thought  of  such  temerity  on  her  part. 

"  I  know  that  you  can,"  he  said  firmly,  taking  her 
trembling  hands  in  his  and  looking  her  steadily  in  the 
face. 

The  trembling  began  to  lessen  as  she  felt  his  strong 
firm  grasp  and  looked  in  his  eyes.  Those  standing  by 
exchanged  significant  looks  as  they  overheard  what 
was  said. 

"  Go  before  these  people,"  Paul  continued,  "  and  tell 
them  first  what  you  see,  then  what  you  feel.  Have  no 


211 


thought  of  how  they  will  receive  it,  of  what  they  will 
think  of  you.  Speak  what  to  you  is  truth  and  leave 
the  rest." 

She  grew  calmer,  as  she  listened  to  him,  and  some- 
thing suddenly  sprang  to  life  within  her.  She  forgot 
what  she  was,  where  she  was.  She  was  filled  with  that 
which  surged  and  throbbed,  which  expanded  her,  which 
lifted  her  to  where  Sarah  Hartwell  was  forgotten.  She 
was  a  voice,  and  words  were  pressing,  pushing,  to  find 
their  way  out — living  burning  words  formed  and  im- 
pelled by  this  new  something  within  her. 

"  I  will  go,"  she  said.  And  her  voice  was  a  new 
voice,  deep,  intense,  thrilling. 

The  prominent  citizen  slipped  quietly  out.  He  had 
promised  to  present  Miriam  Hartwell  to  the  audience. 
There  his  obligation  ceased.  One  after  the  other  of 
those  waiting  in  the  room  followed  his  example  on 
various  pretexts  and  they  were  left  alone.  Paul,  with 
a  light  in  his  face  reflected  in  her  own,  went  to  the 
door  admitting  to  the  platform,  opened  it,  and  stood 
aside  for  her  to  pass  through. 

"  You  can  do  it,"  he  said  in  a  low  but  positive  and 
assured  tone  as  she  moved  slowly  past  him. 

Sarah  was  conscious  of  a  hum  of  astonishment  as  she 
advanced  to  the  centre  of  the  platform.  All  eyes  were 
fixed  on  her  as  she  stood  for  an  instant  silent  before 
them.  She  had  a  curious  feeling  as  if  that  great  sea 
of  faces  surged  up  against  her  where  she  stood  on  the 
shore  and  then  receded.  And  how  still  it  was !  except 
for  that  loud  knocking  somewhere  near  her.  Was  it 
her  heart  ? 

With  a  perfectly  composed  manner  and  in  well- 


212 


chosen  words  she  explained  her  presence  and  her  sis- 
ter's absence,  Miriam's  deep  regret,  her  own  loss  of  the 
manuscript,  and  requested  them  if  they  wished  to  go 
to  make  an  orderly  departure,  when  their  money  would 
be  refunded.  To  those  who  cared  to  remain  she  had  a 
few  words  to  say  on  the  subject  in  hand.  She  waited 
a  moment  to  give  them  an  opportunity  to  withdraw, 
but  the  momentary  stir  and  buzz  subsided  and  no  one 
left  his  seat.  She  felt  that  a  connecting  current  had 
begun  to  flow  between  her  and  them  and  that  she  liad 
a  message  to  deliver.  There  was  a  silent  asking,  an 
expectation,  a  demand  for  which  sprang  a  supply.  She 
felt  Paul's  presence  beyond  the  still  open  door.  There 
was  a  feeling  of  comfort  in  the  sense  of  human  sup- 
port. There  were  momentary  threatenings  of  the 
surge  of  the  sea  again,  but  they  ceased  as  she  found 
herself  resolving  all  those  faces  and  heads  into  one  and 
addressing  that  one  person  who  wanted  to  know  some- 
thing to  which  she  had  given  much  thought. 

Calmly  and  dispassionately  she  sketched  an  outline 
of  evangelical  Christianity,  its  historical  foundation, 
the  reasons  for  and  against  the  claims  made  by  its  ad- 
herents, the  Bible  as  divinely  inspired,  as  history,  and 
as  a  piece  of  literature.  She  did  not  go  into  the  elab- 
orate detail  Miriam  would  have  furnished.  She  had 
not  sufficient  knowledge  of  it.  But  no  one,  not  even 
Miriam  herself,  could  have  surpassed  her  in  her  lack  of 
partisanship  or  individual  bias,  her  clear  analysis  of 
claims  and  the  evidence  supporting  them,  with  frank 
admission  of  their  inefficiency  and  of  the  mass  of  in- 
consistency and  contradiction  included  in  the  letter  of 
the  Bible, 


213 


She  gave  full  credit  to  the  demonstrations  of  modern 
science,  admitting  that  proved  facts  overthrew  and 
demolished  many  dearly  cherished  beliefs,  tenable  no 
longer,  and  compelled  the  Christian  to  revise  them. 
She  was  so  absolutely  fair,  without  prejudice  on  either 
side,  so  frank  in  her  admissions,  that  one  having  no 
previous  knowledge  of  her  would  have  found  it  impos- 
sible to  determine  her  own  opinion.  She  held  the  un- 
wavering attention  of  her  audience.  They  were  so  still 
that  her  voice,  untrained  as  it  was,  was  distinctly  audi- 
ble throughout  the  hall.  It  had  an  effective,  penetrat- 
ing quality,  and  her  dignified  yet  gentle  and  composed 
manner,  added  to  her  lawyer-like  statement  of  her  case, 
won  their  admiration.  She  had  yet  to  begin  to  plead. 

They  looked  at  one  another,  surprise  plainly  visible 
in  their  faces,  as  though  saying,  "Who  would  have 
thought  it?"  Some  well-known  materialists  and  ag- 
nostics who  had  anticipated  a  rich  treat  in  Miriam's 
address  nodded  at  each  other  approvingly.  And  when 
Sarah  paused  for  a  moment  to  consider  the  thread  she 
should  follow  next,  a  sharp,  quick  round  of  applause 
greeted  her.  Their  critical  examination  was  over. 
They  accepted  and  were  willing  to  follow  her. 

"  Admitting  the  great  change  which  to  many  means 
loss,"  she  continued,  "  this  overturn  of  beliefs  sacred  to 
our  forefathers  as  the  divine  mysteries  with  which  \\  •• 
should  not  meddle,  what  remains?  Only  the  cold  fiat 
of  the  materialist  which  dissipates  into  nothingness 
this  warm,  glowing,  living  something  that  loves  and 
hopes  and  fears  and  grows  into  more  and  more  stately 
beauty  and  symmetry  ?  Or  the  equally  cold  and  possi- 
bly as  hopeless  '  I  do  not  know '  that  is  proof  positive 


214 


of  only  misdirected  effort  to  know?  Is  nothing  left 
but  to  live  our  lives  from  day  to  day  as  best  we  may, 
believing,  fearing,  that  because  our  reason  rejects  what 
has  been  taught  us  as  truth  there  is  no  truth  in  what 
we  have  been  taught  ?  No  God,  no  hereafter,  no  pres- 
ent, even,  differing  in  kind  from  that  of  the  creatures 
we  see  around  us,  differing  only  in  the  quality  we  are 
able  to  impart  to  it  by  our  efforts  to  <  eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry/  the  pleasure  we  gain  by  our  intellectual  de- 
struction of  all  that  raises  us  above  their  level  ? 

"  No,  my  friends,  more  is  left.  Truth  is  left.  Our 
puny  efforts,  puny  because  we  are  not  able  to  rise  to 
its  level,  where  alone  is  telling  strength,  will  never  over- 
throw it.  We  but  strike  the  air  and  tire  ourselves,  even 
if  we  are  not  wounded  by  the  return  of  our  blows. 
You  will  ask  me  the  old,  old  question,  l  What  is  Truth  ? ' 
It  is  that  which  is  eternal  and  infinite  in  itself  because 
of  its  nature.  Do  what  we  will,  therefore,  at  present, 
with  all  honest  effort,  we  cannot  have  it  in  its  fullness. 
Each  may,  nay,  must,  possess  that  which  is  true  to 
him ;  and  his  possession  will  be  as  much  of  the  Truth 
as  he  has  capacity  to  receive.  This  will  be  his  religion. 
Creeds  may  go,  doctrine  and  dogma  crumble  away  in 
the  heat  and  friction  of  a  growing  world ;  but  religion 
will  remain,  for  not  one  of  us  can  do  without  it.  It  is 
the  native  air  of  the  soul,  to  which  our  intellect  is  but 
the  vestibule,  the  atmosphere  in  which  it  will  come  to 
bud,  blossom,  and  fruit. 

"  Every  one  of  us  has  his  religion.  Every  one  holds 
dear,  nurtures,  and  defends  that  which  is  truth  to  him ; 
and  every  one  of  us  is  a  worshiper  of  God  when  in  our 
words,  thoughts,  and  acts  we  are  loyal  to  it.  Every  one 


'215 


of  us  has  that  which  no  other  one  can  fully  compre- 
hend ;  for  the  true  to  us  individually  can  only  be  indi- 
vidually known.  And  yet  it  is  fact  for  which  we  re- 
quire no  outside  proof.  Its  presence  with  us  is  its 
own  proof.  But  we  continually  offer  proof,  must  offer 
proof,  to  others  through  what  it  does  in,  with,  and  for 
us,  and  for  them  through  us.  Every  one  is  a  mediator 
for  the  world  between  the  Most  High  and  the  most 
low,  through  that  measure  of  the  infinite  we  individu- 
ally include  and  embody.  Every  one  of  us  is  in  con- 
nection with  that  Most  High  through  that  measure 
which  is  ours.  Within  ourselves  is  the  open  road  lead- 
ing to  Deity,  the  road  in  which  we  are  all,  without  ex- 
ception, traveling,  for  try  as  we  will,  strain,  pull,  en- 
deavor as  we  will,  to  live  as  the  brute  lives,  that  meas- 
ure of  truth  we  do  possess,  the  aspiration  it  kindles 
within  us,  compels  the  slow  advance  to  that  great  whole 
of  which  it  is  a  part. 

"  Who  then  is  the  religious  man  ?  He  who  is  loyal 
to  the  best  of  which  he  is  capable.  Not  he  who  merely 
believes  a  creed,  for  this  crystallizes  his  soul.  Not  he 
who  believes  that  some  personage  in  the  past  is  the  only 
Son  of  God  and  necessary  to  his  salvation,  for  he  but 
halts  with  crutches  instead  of  walking  on  his  own  feet. 
But  he  who  through  this  loyalty  continually  expands 
his  capacity  to  receive  and  know  and  prove." 

As  she  went  on  there  was  a  curious  change  in  her 
which  many  observed  and  at  which  they  wondered. 
It  seemed  as  if  she  had  grown  taller,  had  expanded, 
was  filled  with  a  burning  energy  which  fell  in  showers 
around  her,  rousing  a  response  in  them,  an  impulse,  a 
hope,  a  desire,  an  effort  to  rise  beyond  what  they  had 


210 


felt  before.  There  was  something  more  there,  beyond, 
just  out  of  their  reach. 

She  had  grown  beautiful,  too.  She  looked  command- 
ing, noble.  Her  whole  frame  seemed  tense  with  power. 
She  was  not  Sarah  Hartwell,  Miriam's  quiet  gentle  sis- 
ter. She  was  a  woman  they  had  not  previously  seen  or 
known.  Commendation,  even  admiration  was  in  their 
faces  as  they  followed  her. 

"But  it  is  possible  to  make  a  mistake.  We  have 
made  a  mistake.  This  capacity  of  ours  is  two-sided, 
and  we  have  become  divided  into  two  classes  of  wor- 
shipers. We  have  a  rational  and  an  intuitional  na- 
ture, two  halves  of  one  whole.  Some  of  us  have  sought 
only  with  the  one,  others  only  with  the  other,  and  de- 
veloped, in  consequence,  only  the  capacity  to  find  and 
receive  which  accords  with  the  one  or  the  other.  So 
we  have  the  men  of  science  and  the  religious  emotion- 
alists, embodiments  of  these  natures  separated  from 
each  other.  What  we  must  have,  what  experience 
sometime  will  compel,  is  their  unity.  Both  these  na- 
tures are  legitimate  avenues  to  truth.  It  will  reach  us 
through  both. 

"  But  to  the  one  who  sees  and  receives  through  one 
only,  what  he  sees  and  receives  will  not  accord  with 
what  is  seen  and  received  through  the  other.  Here 
has  been  the  battle-ground  for  centuries,  where  are  still 
seen  decaying  corpses  and  the  freshly  slain.  For  '  the 
cause  of  science '  and  '  in  the  name  of  religion '  blows 
have  been  struck  which  have  brought  bleeding  wounds 
to  those  who  used  the  weapons.  From  the  blood- 
stained soil  have  sprung  up  the  plants  of  intellectual 
pride  and  prejudice,  of  religious  bigotry  and  persecu- 


217 


tion.  The  smoke  of  battle  has  obscured  the  sunshine 
that  is  yet  to  bring  the  blossom  Love. 

'•Tin-  man  of  science  fears  to  trust  to  his  intuitional 
nature.  The  religious  emotionalist  fears  to  be  led 
astray  by  his  rational  nature.  But  Love  casts  out  fear. 
And  the  very  first  glimpse  either  gains  of  the  true,  the 
impersonal  God  who,  changeless  forever,  becomes  per- 
sonal to  us,  is  when  he  at  last,  becoming  able  to  look 
on  both  sides  of  one  whole,  begins  to  see  and  feel  that 
Love  which  dispels  all  hatred,  reconciles  all  differences, 
overlooks  all  mistakes,  gathers  into  one  family  all  man- 
kind. 

u  Ah,  my  friends  ! '' — and  the  light  which  had  been 
glowing  in  her  face  became  like  a  sun  sending  its 
beams  from  afar — "there  is  a  ladder  set  up  on  earth 
whose  top  reaches  Heaven ;  and  from  round  to  round 
we  are  all  climbing  in  that  grand  evolution  which 
brings  us  finally  to  consciousness  of  our  own  infinite 
being — to  that  conscious  capacity  to  see,  know,  be  one 
with  eternal  changeless  truth,  which  has  slowly  evolved 
through  countless  ages  as  the  highest  species  of  the 
genus  Man.  Dominion  is  to  be  ours.  Dominion  over 
all  things  is  the  birthright  of  man.  Subjection  is  only 
the  condition  of  the  not  yet  fully  developed  soul  which 
is  on  its  way  to  equality  with  man ;  it  is  the  limitation 
of  a  species." 

They  listened  with  absorbing  interest.  What  was 
this  doctrine?  She  used  no  names  or  labels,  referred 
to  no  authority  past  or  present,  seemed  to  lean  no 
more  in  one  direction  than  in  another.  She  appealed 
straight  to  something  within  them  instead.  She  spoke 
"  as  one  having  authority  "  and  no  need  to  seek  it. 


218 


Observing  her  and  her  effect  upon  her  audience  one 
could  not  have  believed  she  had  never  spoken  in  public 
before.  But  one  would  also  have  seen  she  was  striving 
for  no  oratorical  effect,  had  no  thought  of  effect,  only 
to  give  utterance  to  what  she  saw  and  felt ;  an  utter- 
ance clothed  with  dignity  and  power  through  her  own 
self -surrender  to  that  which  burned  within  her. 

"  A  new  era  is  dawning.  A  great  mountain  has  con- 
fronted us,  the  mountain  of  ignorance.  What  are  we  ? 
Whence  came  we  ?  Whither  go  we  ?  To  get  an  open 
road  workmen  have  attempted  to  tunnel  this  mountain. 
Divided  in  two  bands  they  have  worked  from  both 
sides.  Unable  to  see  and  follow  the  track  each  was 
making  they  have  believed  themselves  far  apart.  Catch- 
ing in  the  distance  the  faint  .ring  of  each  other's  tools 
they  have  feared,  believing  it  the  voices  of  wild  and 
untamed  creatures  inhabiting  the  mountain.  But  they 
have  worked  steadily,  undeterred  by  their  fears,  and 
they  are  coming  nearer  and  nearer  together.  Though 
working  in  opposite  directions,  they  have  really  worked 
in  one,  for  they  have  worked  to  the  same  end.  The 
wall  yet  between,  though  rock,  is  thin,  and  soon  they 
will  come  face  to  face  and  clasp  hands,  rejoicing  that 
the  work  they  began  so  far  apart  has  brought  them  to- 
gether while  it  has  opened  the  way  for  all  travelers. 
The  signs  of  this  coming  unity  between  science  and 
religion  are  on  every  hand,  the  time  when  we  shall 
know  even  as  we  are  known,  because  our  whole  nature 
is  engaged  in  the  search  and  the  proof,  instead  of  a 
part.  And  what  is  woman's  place  in  this  work? 
What  is  her  religion  ?  What  is  her  office  to-day  ? " 

She  paused,  and  her  listeners  hung  breathless  on  her 


219 


words.  They  feared  to  lose  one  of  them.  Her  voice 
had  sunk  lower  and  yet  they  heard  her.  She  stood 
upon  the  platform,  motionless,  yet  drawing  their  inner 
consciousness  in  her  direction  straight  as  the  needle  to 
the  magnet. 

"  She  is  to  be  present  at  the  marriage  feast  where  the 
water  of  investigation  is  to  be  turned  into  the  wine  of 
realization.  By  what  she  is,  and  the  work  that  she  does, 
she  is  to  help  forward  this  unity.  For  woman  is  the 
unifier  when  she  is  free.  She  has  been  long  in  physi- 
cal and  intellectual  bondage,  but  she  has  been  born  out 
of  it  through  suffering.  She  has  been  purified  in  the 
furnace  heated  seven  times  hotter  for  her  than  for  any 
other  because  of  her  affectional  nature.  She  has  come 
forth  without  even  the  smell  of  fire  upon  her  garments, 
for  she  is  clothed  with  righteousness. 

"  She  has  left  in  the  furnace  the  ashes  of  her  creeds, 
yea,  even  of  her  mortal  hopes  and  longings.  She  has 
brought  forth  only  her  religion — the  spirit  of  the  Love 
divine ;  only  the  aspirations  and  ideals  of  which  she 
is  the  sanctified  mother ;  only  the  great  heart  of  pity- 
ing tenderness  that  beats  for  all  even  as  for  the  one. 
The  flame  has  dried  up  the  tears  that  blinded,  de- 
stroyed the  hand  that  lacked  firmness,  the  foot  that 
was  uncertain,  the  heart  that  ached. 

"  Clear  of  vision,  she  sees  what  is  really  the  office  of 
helpmeet,  sees  her  womanhood  as  the  link  between  the 
human  and  the  divine  in  which  both  blend.  Strong  of 
hand,  she  will  do  the  will  of  the  highest,  not  the  least. 
and,  undismayed,  let  it  be  unto  her  according  to  that 
will.  Firm  of  foot,  she  will  stand  in  the  secret  place  of 
the  Most  High,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  held  above 


220 


its  crucifixion,  ministering  to  the  crucified.  Without 
pain  for  her  own  woes,  for  they  too  will  have  burned 
themselves  out,  hers  will  be  the  mother-heart  which 
feels,  consoles,  and  protects,  even  while  the  immovable 
foot  and  the  firm  hand  execute  the  higher  will. 

"  Oh  !  Women  of  to-day  !  " — and  her  voice  rang 
through  the  great  auditorium  with  a  thrilling  pathos 
as  she  stretched  her  arms  toward  them — "have  you 
suffered  ?  Have  you  felt  the  devouring  flame  ?  Have 
you  seen  your  loves,  your  hopes,  your  religion,  shrivel 
and  dry  and  fall  in  dead  ashes  at  your  feet  ? 

"  Come  out  from  it  new-born  !  Come  forth  as  the 
priestess  of  that  more  than  human  love,  to  bring  its 
message  to  a  waiting  world ! 

"  Come  forth  as  the  reconciler  of  the  human  to  the 
divine,  as  the  purified  soul  fit  to  conceive  the  highest 
while  dwelling  with  the  least ! 

"  Come  as  the  leader,  the  deliverer  of  men  from  the 
bondage  of  their  own  natures ! 

"  Come  as  that  shower  of  the  way  who  walks  before ! 

"  Let  a  song  of  rejoicing  go  up  for  every  pang  you 
have  suffered,  every  tear  you  have  shed.  By  so  much 
are  you  redeemed,  by  so  much  can  you  redeem. 

"  There  is  none  higher  than  the  office  you  are  to  fill. 
Developing  and  using  every  faculty  and  power  of  your 
natures,  masculine  and  feminine  alike,  developing  to 
full  fruition  every  plane  of  your  being,  you  are  to 
combine  in  yourselves,  and  bring  to  unity  in  the  with- 
out, the  two  halves  of  that  great  whole — God-like  man. 

"  You  have  been  knowing  through  feeling.  To-day 
you  are  knowing  through  reason.  To-morrow  you  are 
to  know  through  the  union  of  both.  As  you  lead  all 


221 


will  follow,  for  regeneration  is  through  woman.  You 
have  the  moulding  of  the  future,  the  making  of  the 
race,  the  redemption  of  the  world  in  your  hands. 
Your  offiee  is  that  of  helpmeet,  indeed.  As  woman, 
witV,  and  mother  in  one,  man  is  your  lord,  your  love, 
your  child." 

She  stood  before  them  exalted,  glorified.  She  was 
leading  them  whither  she  would,  they  powerless  to  re- 
sist, though  dazzled  by  the  blinding  splendor  of  which 
she  was  the  open  door.  The  silence  was  intense.  It 
was  the  silence  of  deep  feeling.  A  moment  she  stood 
thus  with  upraised  face  and  arms,  seeing  only  the  glory 
on  the  other  side  of  the  shadow.  Then  her  arms  fell 
and  she  turned  and  went  swiftly  from  the  platform. 

The  door  had  closed  behind  her  before  they  awoke 
to  the  fact  that  she  had  finished  and  gone.  Then  the 
spell  in  which  she  had  held  them  was  broken  and  a 
burst  of  applause,  hearty  and  spontaneous,  followed, 
died  away,  and  was  renewed  again  and  yet  again.  But 
the  door  did  not  open.  Her  work  was  done. 

She  had  sunk  into  a  chair  and  Paul  was  standing  by 
her  holding  her  hands  again  in  his  own.  "  In  that  same 
moment  it  shall  be  given  you,"  he  said. 

There  was  a  noise  at  the  door,  and  the  prominent 
citizen  and  those  who  had  been  with  him  came  crowd- 
ing in. 

"  Let  me  congratulate  you  on  your  remarkable — your 
truly  remarkable  effort,  Miss  Hartwell,"  he  said. 

There  was  a  chorus  of  congratulations,  words  of 
praise  and  well-meant  approval,  which,  while  she  ap- 
preciated their  kindly  motive,  fell  harshly  on  Sarah's 
ears.  They  had  been  open  to  a  heavenly  harmony,  had 


222 


been  catching  that  mighty  and  majestic  rhythm  in 
which  this  earth  and  they  that  dwelt  thereon  were  but 
an  infinitesimal  part.  She  had  but  spoken  what  she 
knew.  It,  not  she,  deserved  their  appreciation. 

Only  as  she  listened  to  them  did  the  first  feeling  of 
weariness  overtake  her.  As  she  stood  upon  the  plat- 
form she  could  have  spoken  for  hours.  There  was  no 
exhausting  the  flood  that  poured  into  her  for  those 
who  waited  to  hear.  But  these  compliments  she  did 
not  desire.  She  wanted  to  go  home. 

She  looked  at  Paul  appealingly.  He  understood  and 
moved  with  her  toward  the  door.  Some  of  them  ac- 
companied her  even  down  the  stairs  and  to  the  car- 
riage which  waited  for  her.  The  prominent  citizen  was 
particularly  officious.  So  dear  is  even  a  little  reflected 
glory. 

But  Paul's  was  the  last  even  as  it  had  been  the  first 
encouragement.  His  words  would  have  been  enigmat- 
ical to  others  had  they  heard  them,  but  to  her  they 
were  holy.  In  a  low  tone  he  had  said,  leaning  forward 
after  the  carriage  door  was  closed  and  she  was  about 
to  drive  away :  "  And  seeing  the  multitudes,  he  went  up 
into  a  mountain :  and  when  he  was  set,  his  disciples 
came  unto  him." 

She  had  made  no  word  of  reply,  had  left  him  stand- 
ing on  the  sidewalk  answering  the  eager  questions  of 
her  surprised  admirers.  But  driving  home  in  the 
darkness  she  asked  herself,  was  she  "  set "  ? 

Seeing  from  her  girlhood  the  waiting  multitudes, 
filled  with  the  desire  to  minister  unto  them,  she  had 
indeed  gone  up  a  mountain.  She  could  not  feed  her 
own  soul  with  the  husks  offered  in  the  name  of  religion. 


223 


How  then  could  they  feed  theirs  ?  They  sought  here 
and  there  on  the  denominational  plains,  only  to  hunger 
still. 

The  only  way  left  was  the  way  up — up  above  their 
level,  up  in  the  free  air  that  encircled  the  mountain's 
ruggedness.  Only  by  climbing  to  where  she  could 
have  a  broader  horizon  could  she  see  what  was  invisi- 
ble on  the  plains.  And  so  she  had  climbed,  for  their 
sakes  as  well  as  for  her  own. 

And  was  she  "  set "  ?  Was  she  so  firm  and  sure,  so 
one  with  the  almighty  truth  that  makes  free — that  es- 
sence which  must  ever  be  liberated  from  the  form  in 
which  it  appears — that  she  had  but  to  open  her  mouth 
to  teach  those  willing  to  come  unto  her,  willing  to  climb 
the  same  mountain  and  view  the  wider  horizon  ? 

Was  she  so  wholly  surrendered  to  it,  so  wholly  with- 
out a  personal  ambition,  that  the  Spirit  of  truth,  which 
guides  into  all  truth,  should  alone  speak  when  she 
opened  her  mouth  ?  For  this,  only,  could  teach. 

These  waiting  multitudes  had  had  preaching.  Teach- 
ing, alone,  could  meet  their  needs,  and  this  could  be 
given  only  when  the  eye  was  fixed  on  the  wholeness 
seen  from  all  sides  of  the  mountain-top. 

Had  the  hour  come  ?  She  had  not  sought  the  oppor- 
tunity. Were  disciples  come  unto  her  because  they 
had  come  unto  it  ?  Was  she  ready  ?  Was  she  "  set "  ? 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  morning  papers  gave  full  accounts  of  the  hap- 
penings of  the  previous  evening;  the  full  house  and 
intelligent  audience,  Miss  HartwelPs  illness  which  pre- 
vented her  appearance,  the  substitution  of  her  sister, 
the  loss  of  the  manuscript,  and  Sarah  Hartwell's  ad- 
dress, of  which  they  all  spoke  respectfully,  and  some  of 
them  with  appreciation.  But  they  were  all  in  accord 
in  the  terms  in  which  they  spoke  of  her : 

"  Such  astonishing  self-possession  on  a  first  appear- 
ance ! " 

"  A  most  impressive  personality !  " 

"  Such  remarkable  ability,  it  is  a  pity  it  has  not  been 
sooner  utilized." 

"We  are  proud  to  have  such  gifted  sisters  as  resi- 
dents of  Benton,"  etc. 

Dr.  Hartwell  beamed  like  a  rising  sun,  notwithstand- 
ing Miriam's  continued  illness,  as  he  read  them.  Truly 
he  had  every  reason  to  be  proud  of  his  children,  but 
even  he  was  astonished.  He  did  not  know  that  his 
gentle,  unselfish,  devoted  Sarah,  so  frequently  eclipsed 
by  his  magnificent  Miriam,  was  capable  of  such  a  suc- 
cessful effort.  Truly,  one  might  live  side  by  side  with 
others  without  knowing  them. 

Though  his  own  work  had  well-nigh  ceased  he  should 
live  in  his  children's.  He  had  helped  to  make  them 

224 


what  they  were.  Miriam's  was  the  more  likely  to  be 
lusting.  She  had  the  more  stable  foundation.  But 
Sjii-ah  was  a  dear  child. 

She  was  the  same  loving  caretaker  and  sympathizer 
this  morning,  meeting  his  needs  and  her  sister's  as  well. 
She  did  not  seem  to  even  care  to  read  what  the  papers 
said  of  her,  but  went  about  her  duties  as  serenely  as 
ever. 

Miriam  seemed  to  grow  worse  as  the  day  wore  on, 
and  exhibited  a  petulance  and  irritability,  especially 
toward  her  sister,  very  unpleasant  to  see.  Her  disap- 
pointment had  been  intense.  She  had  staked  so  much 
on  her  intended  work  of  the  previous  evening !  And 
to  be  compelled  to  give  it  up !  She  who  hated  failures ! 
It  was  the  opportunity  of  a  lifetime,  and  there  she  was 
chained  in  bed,  while  her  sister — 

No.  She  would  have  nothing.  She  did  not  wish  to 
eat  or  drink.  She  wished  to  be  let  alone. 

Kverett  Long  had  been  one  of  the  listeners  the  pre- 
\ious  evening.  He  was  recovering  from  the  shock  of 
his  son's  death,  had  recovered  from  the  surprise  and 
regret  of  the  circumstances  preceding  it.  He  was 
more  than  amazed,  he  was  awed,  as  he  went  back  and 
reviewed  his  life  and  its  connection  with  Helen's,  to  see 
how  surely,  how  relentlessly  and  even  rapidly  their 
reaping  had  followed  their  sowing.  He  was  no  fatal- 
ist. He  but  saw  the  eternal  changeless  relation  be- 
tween cause  and  effect. 

"  Every  seed  produces  after  its  own  kind." 

This  was  immutable  law,  yet  he — and  all  men — was 
the  lawgiver,  for  he  could  determine  the  kind  of  seed 
he  would  sow.  The  harvest  was  sure,  for  the  vitality 


of  the  seed  which  caused  it  to  fructify  and  bring  forth 
was  not  from  him. 

The  boy  had  been  the  legitimate  product  of  his  con- 
ception, for  he  had  been  the  seed  of  selfish  enjoyment 
of  animal  passion,  thoughtlessly,  in  some  measure  ig- 
norantly,  sown,  inheriting  and  carrying  along  only 
those  qualities  in  both  their  natures  which  at  that 
time  were  supremely  active,  and  which  had  also  been 
the  channels  through  which  had  been  carried  along  and 
intensified  like  qualities  in  their  progenitors  till  a  crisis 
was  reached. 

He  had  no  thought  of  blame  for  the  boy.  He  was 
what  he  had  been  made.  The  surface-nature,  which 
had  been  the  embodiment  of  his  inheritance,  had  but 
covered  the  higher,  which  was  not  yet  roused  to  resist- 
ance and  control  and  was  biding  its  time. 

So  far  from  feeling  regret  for  his  death — that  feel- 
ing was  only  for  the  manner  of  it — he  had  a  sense  of 
deep  peace.  He  was  thankful,  from  the  very  depths  of 
his  soul  he  was  thankful,  that  he  had  been  able  to  rise 
to  what  duty  demanded  of  him.  Hard  as  what  it  re- 
quired had  been  to  perform,  he  would  not  abate  one 
jot  or  tittle  of  his  struggle  if  he  could.  However  great 
the  cost,  the  results  had  been  worth  more  than  that  cost 
to  him. 

He  could  see  clearly  now  what  the  nature  of  his  feel- 
ing toward  Helen  had  been.  His  never-ceasing  desire 
to  do  justice  to  their  child,  added  to  the  witchery  of 
her  beauty  and  proffered  tenderness,  had  warped  his 
judgment  and  colored  his  affection  for  her  according 
to  her  own  desires.  The  color  was  gone.  The  affec- 
tion remained. 


227 


Never  again  could  she  beguile  him — and  a  part  of 
his  own  nature  had  assisted  in  the  beguiling — into 
forgetting  to  live  to  his  best,  into  compromising  with 
his  least.  He  was  not  beyond  temptation.  Far  from 
it.  But  she  could  no  longer  be  the  tempter.  He 
would  serve  her  at  any  and  all  times  as  a  fellow-trav- 
eler along  the  road  where  his  own  feet  left  footprints. 
But  he  would  not  lie  down  with  her  in  the  dust. 

He  had  gone  the  previous  evening  with  the  expecta- 
tion of  listening  again  to  Miriam  Hart  well,  whom  he 
had  never  ceased  to  admire.  Admire?  Yes.  That 
was  the  word.  Her  never-flagging  determination,  her 
boldness  in  expressing  her  convictions,  her  wonderful 
intellect,  compelled  his  admiration. 

His  first  feeling  of  disappointment  at  her  non-ap- 
pearance and  sympathy  for  Sarah  were  swallowed  up 
in  a  boundless  surprise  as  he  listened  to  her.  Who 
was  this  woman?  Where  had  she  been  that  he  had 
never  seen,  never  known  her  before  ? 

Intellectually  she  was  the  peer  of  her  sister.  In  in- 
sight, penetration,  intuition,  and  even  power  to  lift  and 
carry  others  with  her,  both  head  and  heart  assented  she 
was  far,  far  beyond  her  sister.  What  did  it  all  mean, 
this  sudden  revelation  of  something  growing  right  in 
their  midst  yet  unknown  ? 

It  was  the  hour  and  the  woman  come  together,  the 
woman  who  was  luminous  from  within.  As  he  listened 
to  her,  the  impediments,  the  stones  in  the  way  of  living 
to  one's  best  vanished,  and  a  glorious  vista  opened 
before  him.  Dazzlingly  radiant,  in  it  his  dreamed-of 
possibilities  were  realities. 

The  woman  clothed  with  the  sun,  the  moon  under 
her  feet. 


228 


Not  the  borrowed  light  of  the  intellect  the  leader 
and  deliverer  of  the  people !  No !  Never ! 

The  deliverance  was  accomplished  only  with  the  in- 
tellect servant  instead  of  master,  underfoot  because 
used  instead  of  worshiped ;  under  the  feet  of  the  true 
leader  and  deliverer,  the  woman  clothed  with  the  sun 
of  spiritual  perception,  uniting  within  herself  the  two 
great  lights  and  ruling  both  the  spiritual  day  and  the 
material  night. 

The  time  of  revelation  was  come.  She  was  the 
priestess,  indeed  j  he  but  the  worshiper  from  afar. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  How  many  kisses  will  you  give  me,  little  woman, 
if  I  will  take  you  back  to  Beiiton  ? " 

Walter  Hemmingway  held  his  wife  on  his  knee  as  he 
rallied  her  on  her  pale  face  and  listless  manner,  which 
were  a  continual  reproach  to  him,  though  he  would  not 
acknowledge  even  to  himself  that  he  was  the  cause  of 
them.  Women  were  so  queer.  They  would  persist  in 
making  themselves  miserable  by  brooding  over  what 
could  not  be  helped. 

"  O  Walter !  A  thousand !  A  million ! "  and  she  threw 
her  arms  delightedly  around  his  neck.  "  Will  you  take 
me  back  right  away  ? " 

She  was  a  dear  little  thing  when  she  was  good — when 
she  stopped  fretting  and  did  everything  he  wanted  her 
to  do.  He  liked  to  pet  her.  He  always  got  more  than 
he  gave. 

"  Yes,  just  as  soon  as  we  can  pack  up  and  get  ready. 
I  had  a  letter  from  the  agent  this  morning,  who  says 
Mrs.  Cunningham  has  gone  away  and  wants  him  to 
rent  the  house  for  anything  he  can  get  for  it.  She 
cannot  bear  to  live  in  it  since  that  boy  who  attempted 
to  rob  her  was  killed,  and  she  is  willing  to  sell  it  for 
less  than  she  paid.  So  you  see  '  it  is  an  ill  wind  that 
blows  no  one  good/  eh  ?  We'll  buy  it  back  again  one 
of  these  days." 

How  delightful !  Emma  cuddled  close  to  her  hus- 
229 


230 


band.  He  was  so  nice  to-day — so  different  from  what 
lie  had  been  lately ! 

"  Walter  dear,"  she  said  in  an  appealing  tone,  her  arm 
close  around  his  neck,  "  love  me,  just  love  me  whether 
we  ever  have  it  or  not,  won't  you  ? " 

"  Why,  of  course  I  love  you !"  and  he  patted  her  cheek 
reassuringly.  "  Haven't  I  trotted  around  with  you  to 
the  neglect  of  my  business  because  I  wanted  to  see  you 
well  and  strong  again  ? " 

Yes,  of  course  he  had.  What  a  little  goose  she  was, 
always  wanting  to  be  told  what  she  ought  to  know 
without  the  telling ! 

"  I  am  sorry  for  Mrs.  Cunningham ;  aren't  you,  Wal- 
ter ?  But  I  cannot  be  sorry  she  does  not  want  to  live 
there  any  longer.  I  wonder  if  my  garden  is  as  we  left 
it,  or  if  she  has  changed  it  all  about?  What  is  she 
like?" 

"  Don't  know.  I've  never  seen  her.  Thompson  says 
she's  a  first-class  beauty,  a  regular  stunner." 

"You  do  want  to  go  back,  don't  you,  Walter?"  and 
she  looked  in  his  face  wistfully.  She  had  had  so  many 
vague  forebodings,  so  many  fears  that  her  husband  had 
some  reasons  of  his  own  for  staying  away  from  Benton, 
fears  to  which  in  her  wifely  loyalty  she  had  refused  to 
listen. 

"  Certainly  I  do — now.  By  the  way,  Emma,  you  re- 
member that  man  who  bothered  me  so  awhile  ago  ? " 

Did  she  not  remember?  Did  not  those  fears  and 
forebodings  start  up  afresh  every  time  she  remem- 
bered him  ?  She  nodded  assent. 

"  Well,  he's  settled  where  he  won't  bother  me  any 
more,  He's  in  the  State  prison  for  life," 


231 


"  O  Walter !  "  she  exclaimed.  She  was  shocked,  not 
only  at  the  fate  which  had  overtaken  the  man,  but  at 
something  in  her  husband's  manner  as  he  told  her  of  it. 

"  Yes.  He  got  into  a  quarrel  with  a  man  and  beat 
him  so  that  he  died  of  his  injuries.  And  I  helped  to 
get  the  evidence  that  convicted  him.  I  wish  it  had 
been  the  gallows  instead ! "  he  half  muttered  vin- 
dictively. 

His  wife  turned  cold.  "  O  Walter !  "  she  exclaimed 
again,  more  shocked  than  before. 

He  realized  that  he  had  unwisely  given  way  to  his 
feeling,  and  recovered  his  usual  manner. 

"Well,  if  a  man  cannot  control  himself  he  has  to 
take  the  consequences.  Come  along  now  and  let  us 
begin  to  pack  up  our  belongings." 

In  spite  of  her  joy  at  going  back  to  Benton  and  into 
her  own  house  once  more— even  if  it  were  not  her  very 
own,  now — a  dark  shadow  seemed  to  hang  over  her. 
She  could  not  get  out  from  under  it.  It  traveled  with 
her  and  stood  waiting  at  the  door  as  she  crossed  the 
threshold  again.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  lived  years 
since  they  went  away.  The  garden  was  changed  and 
the  house  did  not  seem  the  same. 

But  she  was  glad  to  be  with  her  friends,  whom  she 
hud  not  seen  for  so  long.  Sarah,  dear  Sarah  Hartwell 
had  come  to  her  as  soon  as  she  heard  that  she  was  at 
home  again.  And  what  a  famous  woman  she  had  be- 
come !  All  Benton  was  talking  of  her.  Such  a  won- 
derful, such  a  powerful  speaker  as  she  was !  Requests 
to  address  audiences  were  flowing  in  to  her  from  all 
sides.  And  Miriam  was  still  ill !  What  a  pity !  Such 
a  gifted  woman ! 


232 


She  heard  all  about  the  dreadful  occurrence  in  her 
old  home.  She  could  not  pass  the  place  where  Ray- 
mond Long  fell  without  a  shudder.  How  Mrs.  Cun- 
ningham must  have  felt  because  she  could  not  save  him 
from  falling  even  if  he  had  stolen  her  jewels !  No 
wonder  she  wanted  to  get  away  as  soon  as  possible. 

And  Everett  Long !  What  a  grand  man  he  was ! 
He  looked  much  older  and  his  hair  was  becoming  quite 
gray.  But  how  dignified,  how  imposing  he  looked ! 
And  yet  so  gentle  when  he  spoke  or  smiled.  Oh !  It 
was  good  to  be  with  them  all  again. 

One  morning  about  a  week  after  their  return,  and 
when  her  husband  had  gone  to  his  office  with  the  part- 
ing remark  that  he  had  to  work  harder  than  ever  now 
to  make  up  for  lost  time,  there  was  a  ring  at  the  door 
and  the  maid  came  to  her  saying  a  man  was  there  who 
would  not  come  in  but  had  a  package  for  her  that  he 
must  deliver  into  her  own  hand. 

She  went  immediately  and  saw  a  low-browed  ordi- 
nary kind  of  a  man  who  looked  at  her  searchingly  and 
inquired,  "Are  you  Mrs.  Hemmingway ? " 

She  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Then  this  is  for  you,"  handing  her  a  small  package 
carefully  sealed  and  addressed  in  her  name,  going  away 
immediately  before  she  could  question  him  as  she 
took  it. 

Surprised,  she  held  it  in  her  hand  and  examined  it 
closely.  It  seemed  to  contain  papers  only,  was  none 
too  clean,  and  the  handwriting  was  unknown  to  her. 
That  weight  at  her  heart  again  ! 

She  went  up-stairs  to  her  own  room  and  locked  the 
door.  There  seemed  a  menacing  stillness  around  her 


233 


like  that  which  precedes  a  violent  thunder-storm.  She 
broke  the  seals.  Some  letters  fell  out  of  the  cover. 
All  but  one  were  in  her  husband's  writing.  This  one 
she  read  first,  read — and  grew  white  as  if  dead. 

MRS.  HEMMINGWAY  :  If  you  want  to  know  the  kind 
of  a  man  your  husband  is,  read  the  inclosed  letters. 
You  will  see  that  they  are  genuine,  for  you  know  his 
handwriting.  He  did  me  a  deadly  wrong.  He  ruined 
my  wife,  and  she's  not  the  only  woman  he  has  been  in- 
timate with  since  you  married  him,  let  alone  what  he 
was  before.  He  thinks  he's  got  me  where  I  can't  strike, 
but  this  will  show  him  he  don't  know  me.  I've  bled 
him  all  I  could  and  hope  this  will  finish  him. 

JAMES  PUTNAM. 

She  was  sinking  away,  down,  down  into  a  fathomless 
abyss.  But  no  !  it  could  not  be  true !  It  was  impossi- 
ble !  Her  husband  !  It  might  be  true  of  every  other 
husband  in  the  world,  but  never  of  hers  !  Some  enemy 
had  plotted  against  him.  She  would  not  read  those 
letters. 

With  a  quick  movement  she  brushed  them  from  her 
lap  to  the  floor.  As  she  sat  looking  at  them  the  inky 
characters  seemed  to  grow  into  little  black  serpents 
thrusting  venomous  tongues  at  her.  They  began  to 
fascinate  her,  to  draw  her  nearer  and  nearer.  She 
found  one  in  her  hand.  She  could  not  help  reading  it. 
It  had  fallen  from  her  hand  and  another  had  taken  its 
place — another  and  another,  and  she  had  read  them  all, 
four  of  them. 

They  were  couched  in  words  of  tenderness,  contained 
appointments  for  private  meetings  with  references  to 


234 


previous  ones  which  left  no  room  for  doubt  of  their 
nature;  and  their  dates  showed  them  to  have  been 
written  during  the  first  year  of  her  married  life  to  his 
"  darling,"  his  "  only  beloved  Fanny." 

Nearer  dead  than  alive,  she  staggered  feebly  to  the 
bed  and  fell  upon  it.  Everything  faded  from  her,,  but 
finally  came  a  consciousness  of  suffering — one  great, 
consuming,  all-absorbing  pain  which  deadened  her  to 
the  without  only  to  make  her  more  keenly  alive  to  the 
within.  How  long  she  had  lain  there  she  did  not 
know,  but  she  heard  the  maid  coming  up-stairs.  Those 
letters ! 

She  slid  from  the  bed  and  crawled  to  where  they  lay 
on  the  floor,  gathered  them  up  and  crawled  back  again, 
pulled  herself  up  by  the  bedclothes,  and  hid  them  under 
the  pillow  as  she  lay  down,  her  strength  spent.  She 
endeavored  to  command  her  voice  sufficiently  to  an- 
swer the  servant's  knock  in  a  natural  manner,  saying 
she  did  not  wish  for  luncheon  as  she  had  a  headache, 
and  desired  to  be  left  to  sleep  quietly  through  the 
afternoon. 

She  listened  to  her  footsteps  dying  away  as,  after 
hesitating  a  moment,  the  maid  went  down-stairs.  She 
wished  for  nothing  in  this  world  but  to  be  left  alone 
till  she  passed  out  of  it.  If  only  she  might  go  now, 
right  away,  before  her  husband  came  home  !  Her  hus- 
band? She  had  no  husband.  Who  was  this  man? 
What  was  this  man  whom  out  of  her  great  love  she 
had  married  to  save  ? 

The  words  rang  mockingly  in  her  ears.  "  Married 
to  save !  Married  to  save ! "  They  assumed  form, 
there,  out  in  the  room,  and  with  fingers  pointed  in 
derision  jeered  at  her. 


235 


She  could  not  bear  it.  She  would  have  given  her 
life — hud  given  her  life  for  him.  She  could  not  live 
without  love.  He  did  not  love  her — had  never  loved 
IKT  or  lie  could  not  have  been  untrue  to  her.  There 
was  nothing  for  her  but  to  die.  There  was  nothing 
for  which  to  live.  She  was  glad  her  baby  was  dead. 
Yes,  glad !  It  was  a  girl  and  it  would  only  have  lived 
to  suffer.  How  her  head  ached !  Or  was  it  her  heart  ? 

The  afternoon  wore  away  and  she  did  not  move. 
Her  husband  came  home  to  dinner  and  not  seeing 
her  below  inquired  her  whereabouts.  He  found  her 
door  locked  and  there  was  no  response  when  he 
knocked.  Repeated  knocking  and  calling  were  of  no 
avail.  Alarmed,  he  broke  in  the  door.  She  was  lying 
on  the  bed  unconscious.  Dispatching  the  servant  for 
a  physician,  he  endeavored  to  restore  her,  and  in  mov- 
ing her  about  he  shoved  the  pillow  to  one  side,  expos- 
ing some  letters.  He  picked  them  up  quickly  and 
glanced  over  them.  He  understood. 

With  an  oath  he  thrust  them  into  an  inner  pocket 
and  continued  his  efforts,  his  face  flushing  and  paling 
by  turns.  She  moaned  feebly.  She  did  not  seem  to 
recognize  him,  however,  when  she  opened  her  eyes,  only 
to  close  them  again  and  appear  as  lifeless  as  before. 

"Has  your  wife  experienced  any  great  or  sudden 
shock  ? "  the  physician  asked  as  he  stood  thoughtfully 
at  the  bedside  after  his  examination. 

Walter  hesitated.  "  Xo,  I  know  of  none,"  he  replied 
finally.  "  I  found  her  in  this  state  when  I  came  home. 
The  servant  tells  me  she  complained  of  not  feeling  well 
and  wanted  to  be  left  undisturbed." 

They  remained  with  her  until  she  sank  into  what 
seemed  to  be  a  natural  slumber,  when  the  physician 


23S 


went  away  with,  the  promise  to  come  again  the  next 
morning.  After  he  had  gone  Walter  Hemmingway 
stole  carefully  from  the  room  and  went  to  the  small 
library  below.  Locking  the  door  behind  him  and 
lighting  the  gas,  he  drew  the  letters  from  his  pocket 
and  looked  them  over  carefully.  His  face  darkened 
as  he  read. 

James  Putnam  had  hounded  him  successfully  until 
he  had  been  put  behind  the  bars.  He  had  thought 
himself  safe  then.  As  for  the  man's  wife — pshaw ! 
What  was  one  woman  in  an  experience  so  varied  as 
his  had  been !  He  would  have  forgotten  her  long  ago 
but  for  that — sneak,  her  husband. 

It  was  different  with  Emma.  She  was  his  wife  and 
he  really  cared  for  her.  She  ought  to  know  that.  She 
ought  to  know  that  he  was  only  like  the  majority  of 
men.  However  much  he  might  amuse  himself,  she 
was  secure  in  her  place  as  wife.  Anyway,  what  a 
woman  did  not  know  did  not  hurt  her.  He  was  soriy 
she  had  found  it  out.  He  should  probably  have  hard 
work  to  smooth  her  down. 

Lighting  one  of  the  letters  at  the  gas-jet  he  burned 
them  carefully  in  the  grate,  poking  the  ashes  cautiously 
to  see  that  none  of  the  paper  was  left  unconsumed.  He 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  There  !  So  much  is  disposed  of  at  last.  Wish  I 
may  get  out  of  the  rest  of  it  as  easily.  Bet  I'll  never 
put  anything  of  this  kind  in  black  and  white  again. 
Why  do  women — some  women — take  such  things  so 
hard,  I  wonder  ? " 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

TRY  and  evade  it  as  she  would,  Miriam  Hartwell  had 
to  confess  to  herself  she  was  utterly  miserable. 

And  yet  she  had  won  what  she  had  worked  for  up 
to  a  certain  point.  Here,  where  she  had  staked  so 
much,  another  had  stepped  in  and  carried  off  the 
honors.  Every  visitor  who  came  to  the  house  con- 
soled her  in  her  long  illness  by  sounding  her  sister's 
praises — her  sister  who  had  lived  a  quiet  humdrum  life 
while  she  had  worked  and  studied  and  thought,  never 
sparing  herself  in  her  effort  to  show  the  world  what  a 
woman  could  be  and  do. 

How  she  had  gloried  in  compelling  the  recognition 
of  men,  the  envy  of  women  !  What  to  her  had  been 
the  softness  and  tenderness  of  what  they  called  love, 
so  she  could  see  in  their  eyes  the  gleam  of  their  admi- 
ration ! 

Oh  dear !  Oh  dear !  Why  was  she  suffering  so  ? 
What  was  her  suffering?  While  she  was  weak  and 
nervous,  with  frequent  pains  in  her  head,  it  was  not  all 
physical.  Her  heart — 

What !  Yes.  It  was  of  no  use.  She  had  a  heart 
like  the  rest  of  humanity ;  a  common  every-day  heart ; 
and  it  ached,  ached,  ached.  It  was  hungry,  starving. 

She  had  not  seen,  had  not  known.  While  still  active 
and  energetic,  anticipating  the  results  to  come,  she  had 

237 


238 


turned  a  deaf  ear  to  its  cries,  which  were  but  feeble. 
But  now,  after  two  years  of  illness,  lying  there  or  sit- 
ting listlessly  in  her  great  chair — such  a  long,  long 
time — she  could  not  close  her  ears,  could  not  still  it. 

Was  it  really  worth  while  after  all  ?  All  these  years 
of  effort,  and  now  this  disappointment  and  pain  ?  Even 
in  the  full  blaze  of  her  glory  there  had  been  haunting 
shadows.  These  closed  around  her  now  and  the  light 
faded,  faded,  faded. 

She  saw  again  Everett  Long's  face  when  she  had  dis- 
missed him,  his  grave  earnest  eyes  which  looked  so 
longingly  into  her  own. 

What  a  fool  she  had  been  !  She  had  thrown  away 
the  love  offered  her,  for  what  ?  He  had  steadily  risen 
in  spite  of  her  prophecy,  and  she —  Oh !  if  she  could 
only  take  it  all  back !  He  was  a  kingly  man — yes,  a 
king ! 

She  put  her  hands  over  her  face  and  rocked  to  and 
fro,  only  to  throw  her  head  back  again  and  laugh  bit- 
terly. She  was  safe.  She  was  alone.  Not  for  the 
world  and  all  it  contained  would  she  betray  this  feel- 
ing to  others.  But  she !  Miriam  Hartwell !  to  really 
be  miserable  because  she  could  no  longer  be  sufficient 
unto  herself !  Because  she  loved — and  in  vain ! 

But  was  it  really  in  vain  ?  Was  it  even  yet  too  late 
to  win  him  back  ?  Could  she,  a  mature  woman — old 
woman  in  comparison  with  the  bloom  and  freshness  of 
youth — compel  herself  to  try  to  do  this  ?  How  she  had 
scorned  "  woman's  wiles  "  !  How  she  had  scorned  the 
woman  weak  and  foolish  enough  to  use  them  !  How 
young  girls  secure  in  the  charm  of  their  youth  would 
laugh  at  her  now  if  they  knew ! 


Bah !  What  was  their  love  to  hers  ?  How  could 
they,  young,  vain,  ignorant,  and  inexperienced,  love — a 
man  !  They  were  attracted  by  their  kind.  The  man 
she  loved — he  was  a  man  and  far  above  them.  Year 
after  year,  unknown,  this  love  had  been  growing  in 
her  heart,  till  now,  too  strong  to  remain  unrecognized, 
it  leaped  up  and  confronted  her,  demanding  its  rights. 
Like  some  other  things,  it  was  the  more  intense  for 
coming  late  in  life. 

Love !  What  did  girls  know  of  love  ?  Yes,  she 
would,  she  could  do  anything  to  win  him  back. 

A  gentle  tap  on  the  door  and  Sarah  looked  cautiously 
in. 

"  Oh,  Miriam  dear !  are  you  up  ?  Shall  I  bring  you 
a  cup  of  chocolate  ?  And  may  I  not  open  the  shutters 
a  little  more  and  let  some  of  this  glorious  sunshine 
into  the  room  ?  " 

She  moved  forward  as  she  spoke,  dropping  a  gentle 
kiss  on  her  sister's  forehead  on  her  way  to  the  window. 
Miriam  turned  her  head  impatiently  to  one  side. 

Sarah  took  no  notice  of  her  sister's  rejection  of  her 
caress,  but  moved  to  the  window  and  opened  the  shut- 
ters. As  she  turned  again  and  took  a  step  forward  she 
halted  suddenly. 

Miriam  was  sitting  half  crouched  in  her  chair,  bend- 
ing forward  with  her  hands  on  the  arms  and  one  foot 
advanced  as  if  she  were  about  to  spring  upon  her,  such 
a  look  of  concentrated  rage  and  hate  in  her  face  that 
she  had  nearly  lost  resemblance  to  a  human  being. 
Involuntarily  Sarah  recoiled,  wonder-struck  at  her  sis- 
ter's appearance. 

"  I  hate  you !     I  hate  you !  "  she  hissed,  and  her  eyes 


240 


fastened  on  Sarah's  face  were  like  those  of  a  wild  beast. 
'  You  have  stolen  my  place  !  You  have  taken  what  be- 
longs to  me  !  Your  sweet  looks  and  words  are  lies — lies 
all  of  them.  You  are  a  trickster  and  a  deceiver !  You 
are  a  conspirator !  You  conspired  to  rob  me  of  my  hard- 
earned  fame  and  get  it  for  yourself.  You  never  lost 
my  manuscript.  If  you  had  lost  it,  it  would  have  been 
found.  You  stole  it  and —  " 

Sarah  had  stood  motionless,  so  appalled  by  Miriam's 
first  words  she  could  not  stir.  But  at  'this  charge  the 
indignant  blood  leaped  to  her  face,  and  her  whole  form 
quivered. 

"  Stop !  "  she  exclaimed.     "  How  dare  you — " 

Even  as  she  uttered  the  words  a  change  passed  over 
her.  The  red  flush  faded,  the  quivering  ceased.  A 
struggle  was  perceptible  in  her  face.  A  moment's  si- 
lence, and  again  she  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  calmly 
at  her  sister,  while  her  hands,  which  had  momentarily 
clenched,  hung  passive  at  her  side. 

"  You  know  that  what  you  say  is  untrue,"  she  said 
quietly,  "  and  you  do  not  really  mean  it.  Your  long 
illness  has  given  you  a  distorted  view  of  many  things. 
We  will  both  forget  this.  You  need  your  chocolate 
now.  I  will  go  and  get  it." 

Miriam  sank  back  in  her  chair  as  her  sister  left  the 
room,  white  and  nerveless,  the  sudden  energy  which 
had  flared  up  in  her  gone.  Her  head  fell  forward  on 
her  breast  and  a  moan  broke  from  her  lips.  But  she 
tried  to  draw  herself  up  and  wear  a  haughty  look  when 
she  heard  Sarah's  returning  footsteps. 

All  trace  of  her  previous  feeling  had  disappeared 
when  Sarah  entered  the  room,  her  own  well-poised, 


241 


steady,  reliant  self.  She  placed  the  chocolate  by  her 
sister's  side  and  unobtrusively  performed  every  office 
her  loving  nature  suggested  as  helpful  and  comfort- 
ing. 

Miriam  suffered  her  attentions,  seeming  not  to  notice 
them.  Through  the  long  afternoon  she  pondered,  tak- 
ing no  notice  of  the  new  books  and  magazines  Sarah 
placed  ready  to  her  hand.  She  did  not  go  to  bed  im- 
mediately after  her  early  tea,  as  had  for  some  time  been 
her  custom.  She  still  pondered. 

In  the  evening  the  door-bell  rang.  Usually  she  did 
not  notice  it,  but  she  caught  the  sound  of  a  voice  that 
made  her  heart  leap,  asking  for  Miss  Sarah  Hartwell. 

He  had  not  asked  for  her.  Why  no,  of  course  not ! 
He  knew  she  was  ill. 

She  heard  her  sister  going  down-stairs.  She  strained 
her  ears  to  hear  what  they  were  saying,  but  she  could 
not  hear.  She  started  up.  She  would  not  be  ill.  She 
would  not  stay  there  in  her  room  weak  and  helpless, 
and  he  in  the  house. 

Her  knees  trembled  under  her  as  she  moved  about 
preparing  to  go  down-stairs.  She  dressed  slowly  and 
carefully.  She  looked  in  the  mirror  anxiously.  She 
was  haggard,  old.  If  she  only  had  some  rouge !  But 
there  was  none.  She  had  always  scorned  such  follies. 

She  went  toward  the  door,  stepped  into  the  hall, 
hesitated,  then  turned  back.  She  was  trembling  more 
than  when  she  began  to  dress.  Could  she  go  down  ? 
She  heard  the  deep  tones  of  his  voice.  Yes,  she  would 
go  down. 

She  descended  slowly  and  carefully,  holding  to  the 
balustrade.  As  she  appeared  at  the  door  Everett  Long 


242 


rose  to  his  feet.  Sarah,  turning  to  see  why,  saw  her  sis- 
ter, and  came  toward  her  surprised. 

"  Why,  Miriam  dear !  I  am  so  glad  you  feel  able  to 
come  down.  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  and  I  would 
have  come  to  help  you  ? " 

Everett  greeted  her  cordially  as  she  sank  into  the 
easy-chair  he  drew  forward.  He  was  unfeignedly  glad 
to  see  her,  to  find  her  able  to  leave  her  room.  But  al- 
though he  knew  she  had  been  ill  for  a  long  time  now, 
during  which  he  had  seen  her  but  infrequently,  he  was 
surprised  to  see  the  change  in  her.  The  flush  that  had 
been  on  her  cheeks  from  her  exertion,  when  she  first 
entered  the  room,  faded,  leaving  a  weary  look  in  its 
place.  Her  eyes  had  lost  their  brilliancy,  but  he  liked 
them  even  better  so.  They  were  no  longer  cold ;  there 
seemed  more  feeling  in  them. 

"  I  was  asking  Miss  Sarah,"  he  said  after  the  greet- 
ings incidental  to  her  appearance  were  exchanged,  "  for 
the  latest  news  of  Mrs.  Hemmingway.  I  am  grieved  to 
hear  that  there  is  no  prospect  of  her  recovery." 

Miriam  looked  at  her  sister  inquiringly. 

"No.  Her  physician  says  she  will  live  but  a  few 
days  longer,"  replied  Sarah.  "  Since  her  sudden  attack 
shortly  after  their  return  to  Benton  some  time  ago  she 
has  steadily  declined." 

"  A  case  of  quick  consumption,  her  husband  told  me 
when  I  met  him  a  short  time  ago,"  said  Everett,  "  for 
which  the  resources  of  medical  science  are  as  yet  in- 
sufficient," he  added  musingly. 

"  It  is  a  case  of  broken  heart,"  said  Miriam,  "  if  we 
may  believe  all  we  hear." 

"  Broken  heart ! "  exclaimed  Everett,  looking  up 
quickly.  He  had  heard  nothing. 


243 


Sarah  remained  silent. 

"Yes,"  continued  Miriam.  "While  one  ordinarily 
would  pay  little  attention  to  servants'  gossip,  Walter 
Hemmingway's  character  is  so  well  known  it  is  more 
generally  credited  than  otherwise  it  would  have  been. 
One  of  their  neighbors  told  me  all  about  it.  It  seems 
a  strange  man  brought  a  package  which  he  would  de- 
liver onl}r  into  her  own  hand,  the  day  she  was  taken  ill. 
And  afterward  the  maid  heard  her  rave  about  some 
letters  her  husband  had  written  to  some  woman  and 
that  he  had  broken  her  heart." 

"  Poor  child !  "  said  Everett  feelingly.  He  remem- 
bered the  day  of  the  wedding,  when  he  had  picked  up 
the  bride's  flower,  crushed  and  broken. 

His  eyes  and  Sarah's  met.  There  was  in  them  the 
quick  flash  of  recognition  when  two  have  the  same 
thought.  Both  were  thinking  how  much  harder  it  is 
to  live  with,  than  to  die  from  sorrow,  live  till  it  is  con- 
quered and  the  soul  is  enriched  and  ennobled  by  the 
suffering. 

Miriam  sa\v  the  look,  saw  that  they  understood  eaeh 
other  without  the  need  of  words;  saw  an  expression  in 
his  eyes  as  he  looked  at  her  sister  which  first  choked 
her  with  fear  and  then  filled  her  with  renewed  rage. 

He  had  never  looked  at  her  like  that !  Never ! 
Never!  It  was  what  she  wanted,  craved,  panted — 
was  starving  for.  Unwittingly  she  groaned,  and  her 
head  fell  back  against  her  chair.  Sarah  was  at  her 
side  in  an  instant,  stooping  over  her,  only  to  recoil 
slightly  as  her  sister  for  an  instant  looked  up  in  her 
face. 

With  a  strong  effort  Miriam  controlled  herself. 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  pity,"  she  said.     "  But  she  knew  what 


244 


he  was  when  she  married  him.  She  was  warned.  Such 
a  man  is  not  easily  made  over." 

"  But  do  we  any  of  us  heed  our  warnings  when  they 
jar  with  our  inclinations  ? "  said  Everett.  "  She  loved 
him — she  thought  she  loved  him  devotedly,  and  that 
he  loved  her  equally.  She  could  see  no  impossible 
even  if  she  could  see  danger,  which  was  doubtful." 

He  could  conceive  a  love  that  could  save,  but  only 
by  inciting  in  the  loved  one  the  impulse  to  save  him- 
self. It  was  savior  only  as  inspirer.  His  eyes  again 
sought  Sarah's.  How  naturally  they  turned  to  her 
when  the  highest  ideals,  the  noblest  and  loftiest 
thoughts  were  in  his  mind !  Again  the  flash  of  rec- 
ognition. His  thought  was  her  own. 

How  Miriam  dragged  through  the  evening  she  hardly 
knew.  She  remained  till  Everett  Long  took  his  leave, 
which  was  early.  It  fed  his  soul  even  to  be  in  the  room 
with  Sarah.  He  was  content  with  little.  He  was  still 
the  worshiper  from  afar.  Within  him  was  no  noise, 
no  strife ;  only  a  great  stillness  and  peace. 

But  when  Miriam  laid  her  head  on  her  pillow  bitter 
tears  wetted  it,  scalding  tears  that  welled  up  from  her 
sore  and  aching  heart.  She  was  no  longer  the  conqueror 
leading  women  to  victory,  but  one  of  the  suffering  rank 
and  file.  In  vain  she  reviewed  her  brilliant  achieve- 
ments, striving  to  still  her  pain  with  the  memory  of 
the  admiration  she  had  won — which  she  could  still  win 
if  she  chose. 

Ah,  but  she  had  had  enough  of  admiration !  She 
wanted  love,  love,  love.  She  would  have  it ! 

She  sprang  up  in  bed  with  hand  clenched  and  eyes 
dry  and  burning.  Nothing  should  successfully  oppose 


245 


her.  Nothing !  That  soft-spoken  sister  of  hers !  How 
did  she  dare — 

Her  head  was  buried  in  the  pillow  again,  strangling 
the  sobs  that  half  suffocated  her. 

Morning  found  her  early  astir.  She  had  formed  a 
resolution.  She  had  had  no  sleep.  It  was  not  the  first 
night  she  had  lain  till  daylight  with  wide-open  eyes. 
Insomnia  was  slowly  but  surely  threatening  her  with 
its  terrors. 

In  the  long  weary  time  since  she  had  mingled  with 
the  world,  the  time  in  which  her  sister,  profiting  by  her 
misfortune,  had  built  up  a  name  and  reputation  for 
herself,  she  had  thought  much  of  Paul  Masters  and 
become  convinced  that  he  was  possessed  of  some  mys- 
terious power. 

She  remembered  how  she  had  been  impressed  by  his 
calm  confidence  in  all  their  intellectual  discussions,  how 
he  had  appeared  as  possessing  a  knowledge  beyond 
her  ken,  a  possibility  which  irritated  her  even  while 
she  refused  to  admit  it  as  such. 

She  had  heard  it  said  that  he  knew  things  before 
they  were  going  to  happen  and  had  laughed  at  the 
idea.  It  teas  funny  that  after  being  away  for  a  long 
time,  nobody  knew  where,  he  should  have  appeared 
the  very  night  her  sister  went  to  take  her  place  and 
incited  her  to  do  what  she  did  after  losing  the  manu- 
script— if  she  did  lose  it.  She  knew  all  about  it,  for 
some  of  the  ladies  who  had  been  in  the  reception-room 
had  told  her. 

She  wanted  to  know — she  could  not  wait,  could  not 
bear  it.  She  had  heard  of  people  going  to  fortune- 
tellers to  hear  the  future.  That  was  folly,  a  remnant 


246 


of  superstition.  She  might  be  weak  to  look  to  any 
one,  but,  thank  Heaven  !  she  was  without  superstition. 
Paul  Masters  was  an  educated,  cultivated  man,  and 
every  one  who  knew  him  knew  he  was  always  ready 
to  give  all  the  help  in  his  power  when  help  was  needed. 
She  was  going  to  see  him.  She  had  learned  his  address 
from  Everett  Long  the  night  before.  What  friends 
those  two  men  were  ! 

Later  in  the  morning  Paul  was  surprised  by  a  visi- 
tor, a  lady  who  came  in  a  cab  and  sent  in  her  card. 
"Miss  Hartwell,"  he  read  in  surprise. 

He  greeted  her  most  cordially  as  she  came  in  and 
dropped  exhausted  in  a  chair.  Before  she  had  spoken 
a  word  a  shadow  passed  over  his  face,  passed,  and  left 
its  accustomed  serenity,  and  also  an  expression  of  pity. 

"I  have  come — I  want  to  see  you.  We  are  alone?" 
she  said  inquiringly. 

He  noted  the  trembling  of  her  hands,  the  alternate 
flushing  and  paling  of  her  face,  the  uncertain  look  in 
her  eye,  which  sought  his  only  to  look  away,  here,  there, 
anywhere,  and  then  seek  his  again. 

He  assured  her  they  would  be  uninterrupted  and 
waited  quietly  for  her  to  make  known  her  errand, 
while  his  expression  of  pity  deepened. 

"You  know,"  she  continued,  "that  I  have  been  ill 
some  time.  I  do  not  recover  as  I  should.  Nothing 
seems  to  help  me.  The  physicians  do  not,  and  I  am 
tired  of  them.  I  have  heard  you  say  that  we  can  help 
ourselves  both  to  secure  and  retain  health.  Tell  me 
how,  will  you  ? " 

"  By  living  aright,"  he  said  gently  after  a  moment's 
hesitation. 


247 


She  made  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"  Every  one  knows  that.  But  how  do  we  live  aright  ? 
That  is  the  question.  One  can  study  his  eating,  drink- 
ing, clothing,  sleeping,  and  then  fall  ill  through  igno- 
rance of  something  else.  How  to  live  aright  is  the 
thing  of  which  we  are  all  most  ignorant,  it  seems  to 
me." 

"It  is  summed  up  in  three  words/'  replied  Paul. 
"  Govern  your  thinking." 

"  Govern  your  thinking !"  she  repeated  incredulously. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  What  has  my  thinking  to  do 
with  it?" 

"  Not  that  which  goeth  into  the  mouth  defileth  the 
man,  but  that  which  cometh  out  of  the  mouth.  For 
onl  of  the  heart  proceed  evil  thoughts.  These  are  the 
things  which  defile  a  man,"  said  Paul,  looking  her 
steadily  in  the  eye. 

"  Don't  quote  Bible  to  me,"  she  cried,  starting  up  im- 
petuously. "I  have  no  use  for  it.  Health  of  body  is 
purely  a  physical  thing.  I  am  sick  of  cant  and  relig- 
ious twaddle." 

"  Health  of  body  is  inseparable  from  health  of  mind," 
In-  replied,  ignoring  the  rest.  "  Can  you  have  a  raging 
fever  in  mind,  fear,  confusion,  uncertainty,  falsehood 
and  hatred,  jealousy  and  deception,  and  then  be  strong 
of  body,  calm  of  nerve,  perfect  in  digestion,  thorough 
and  regular  in  all  organic  functions?  Mind  and  body 
are  a  unity.  Whatever  the  quality  of  the  controlling 
force  within,  body  will  manifest  it  without.  There  must 
and  will  be  a  likeness  between  the  two.  Thoughts 
poison  and  disintegrate  or  regenerate  and  upbuild. 
You  cannot  think  hate  and  live  love." 


248 


She  looked  at  him  with  a  mingled  expression  of  ridi- 
cule and  fear.  Well  she  knew  the  thoughts  that  rankled 
within  her!  But  how  could  he  know?  And  it  was 
too  ridiculous  to  be  thought  of,  anyway.  She  was  only 
temporizing.  She  did  not  like  to  approach  the  real 
object  of  her  visit  too  suddenly. 

"  You  hold  views  which  to  me  are  peculiar,  I  know," 
and  she  turned  her  head  wearily  as  it  lay  against  the 
back  of  her  chair.  "I  do  not  say  they  are  without 
foundation.  Many  things  do  not  seem  to  me  as  they 
used,  not  so  stable  and  secure.  Do  you  think  I  shall 
recover  very  soon  ? "  and  turning  quickly  she  looked  at 
him  keenly. 

"  I  think  you  can.  I  do  not  know  if  you  will,"  he 
answered  gravely. 

She  laughed,  the  better  to  hide  what  she  was  really 
seeking. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Masters !  I  am  surprised  !  Don't  you 
know  you  have  quite  a  reputation  for  being  able  to 
read  the  future  ?  I  expected  to  hear  a  positive  yes  or 
no. " 

Paul  knew  she  had  come  to  see  him  with  some  spe- 
cial object  of  her  own  in  view  which  she  did  not  wish  to 
betray.  Merely  his  knowledge  of  the  past  and  her  na- 
ture was  enough  for  that  conclusion. 

"  Come,  tell  me,"  she  went  on  lightly.  "  Shall  I  get 
the  desire  of  my  heart  ? " 

He  did  not  laugh.  His  gravity  deepened.  "You 
will  get  what  we  all  get,  Miss  Hartwell — the  harvest 
from  the  seed  we  have  sown.  We  can  all  know  the 
future,  for  it  is  sure  to  be  what  our  use  of  the  present 
makes  it," 


249 


"  Oh,  platitudes !  platitudes ! "  she  exclaimed  wearily 
as  he  ceased.  "  I  have  heard  that  ever  since  I  was 
born.  You  do  know  more  than  most  people  do,"  turn- 
ing toward  him  impetuously,  her  eagerness  for  satis- 
faction breaking  down  her  caution  and  habitual  re- 
serve. "  I  am  sure  of  it.  I  want  something  so  much, 
so  much  I  cannot  eat  or  sleep.  I  cannot  rest  with  this 
ceaseless  gnawing  here,"  and  she  pressed  her  hand  to 
her  heart  while  a  wild  look  came  into  her  eyes.  "  I 
want  to  know — I  must  know — shall  I  get  it  ?  Tell  me, 
shall  I  get  it?" 

It  was  not  a  request,  it  was  a  demand.  Paul  looked 
at  her  compassionately. 

"  You  have  accomplished — have  conquered  so  much 
for  yourself,  Miss  Hart  well,  surely  you —  " 

"  But  this  is  not  like  that,"  she  interrupted  him.  "  I 
would  give  it  all,  fame,  power,  position,  for  just  this 
one  thing  I  want,  just  one — just  one."  And  as  she 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands  he  saw  the  tears  trickle 
through  her  fingers. 

It  required  no  necromancy  to  divine  the  one  thing 
she  wanted.  He  knew  what  her  life  had  been  and  he 
know  the  human  heart.  Nature's  revenge  ?  The  soul's 
balancing  of  accounts  with  itself. 

Sore  indeed  must  have  been  the  strait  which  could 
bring  this  proud  woman  to  such  an  exposure  of  her 
weakness.  Without  divination,  with  only  the  ordinary 
review  of  what  he  knew,  of  her  connection  with  Ever- 
ett, of  the  change,  the  development  in  him,  he  knew 
she  would  not  get  her  desire.  His  heart  ached  for  her, 
for  the  suffering  which  was  inevitable,  which  he  would 
gladly  have  lifted  from  her.  Biit  he  knew,  too,  there 


250 


was  no  such  thing  as  vicarious  atonement  possible  on 
earth  or  accepted  in  heaven. 

"  If  you  wish  me  to  tell  you  honestly  what  I  think, 
Miss  Hartwell,"  and  his  voice  was  full  of  feeling,  "  and 
I  am  not  mistaken  in  my  supposition  of  what  you  de- 
sire, I  must  say  I  think  you  will  not  get  it." 

Her  hands  dropped  wearily  in  her  lap  and  she  sat 
looking  hopelessly  in  his  face.  A  moment  and  she 
began  to  laugh  hysterically. 

"  Why !  really !  How  serious  we  are !  One  would 
think— ha !  ha !  ha !  " 

He  took  her  hands  firmly  in  his  own. 

"  Wait  a  moment.  Look  at  me  !  At  once !  Look 
in  my  eyes !  " 

His  authoritative  tone  arrested  her  and  she  did  as 
he  bade  her.  In  a  moment  or  two  she  grew  quiet  and 
Paul  released  her  hands. 

"  You  have  great  opportunities,  Miss  Hartwell,"  he 
said,  "such  as  fall  to  few.  Turn  your  magnificent 
talents  in  the  right  direction  and  every  really  good 
thing  will,  at  some  time,  come  to  you.  Learn  to  see 
the  continuity  of  life  and  you  will  see  that  what  you 
lose  now  will  but  fall  in  fourfold  blessings  on  the  path- 
way of  your  fellow-men ;  while  all  you  with  a  chastened 
heart  and  purified  soul  truly  desire  will  surely  in  the 
great  forever  be  yours." 

She  smiled  wanly. 

"  Thank  you.  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me,"  she 
said.  "  I  think  I  will  go  home  now,"  rising  to  her  feet 
and  steadying  herself  with  a  hand  on  the  back  of  the 
chair.  Speaking  a  moment  of  indifferent  things  as  if 
she  had  dismissed  the  subject  from  her  own  mind,  she 
went  away. 


251 


Alone  in  the  cab  again  she  clenched  her  hands  till 
the  blood  nearly  started  from  the  pressure  of  her  nails. 

"How  could  I  betray  myself  in  this  manner!  "  she 
muttered.  "How  could  I  do  it?  If  he  should  ever 
speak  of  it — " 

She  went  to  bed  as  soon  as  she  reached  home.  She 
was  very  weak  and  violent  by  turns.  She  would  not 
have  Sarali  in  her  room,  and  to  all  her  father's  entreat- 
ies begged  only  to  be  let  alone. 

The  news  went  abroad  that  the  nervous  prostration 
from  which  Miss  Hartwell  had  suffered  so  long  had 
greatly  increased  in  severity. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

WALTER  HEMMINGWAY  had  seen  his  wife  slowly  fad- 
ing before  his  eyes  since  the  day  he  found  her  uncon- 
scious after  receiving  the  letters  he  had  burned.  She 
had  been  delirious  for  a  time  and  had  raved  about 
them,  of  his  unfaithfulness,  of  her  broken  heart — 
"broken,  broken,  broken,"  she  would  say,  her  voice 
sinking  lower  and  lower  till  it  died  away  in  a  faint 
whisper. 

The  physician  had  regarded  him  suspiciously  from 
the  first,  and  the  nurse  whom  he  had  been  obliged  to 
procure  to  attend  his  wife  gave  him  the  shortest  pos- 
sible answers  to  his  questions  and  seemed  to  avoid 
speaking  to  him  at  all  if  she  could. 

Life  had  not  been  altogether  pleasant  for  him  since, 
and  at  times  he  suffered  severely  from  the  twinges  of 
a  spasmodic  conscience.  At  others  he  wondered  why 
he  should  be  punished  so  severely  for  what  was  com- 
mon enough  with  men,  and  cursed  his  luck  at  being 
found  out. 

He  had  been  relating  his  woes  to  some  of  his  asso- 
ciates in  a  downtown  bar-room  when  "that  conceited 
prig,"  Everett  Long,  had  passed  him,  evidently  search- 
ing for  some  one,  and  had  stopped  short,  looking  him 
in  the  eye  with  an  expression  which  had  silenced  his 
tongue.  Everett  had  said  nothing — if  he  had  he  would 

252 


253 


have  knocked  him  down — but  had  passed  on  to  a  young 
man  drinking  at  the  bar,  who  had  gone  away  with  him 
shortly  after. 

He  felt  like  cursing  every  time  he  remembered  that 
look.  What  business  was  it  of  his,  what  he  had  or 
had  not  done  ?  Everett  Long  had  always  owed  him  a 
grudge  for  taking  Emma  away  from  him,  and  he  prob- 
ably felt  sore  yet  even  if  he  had  turned  saint. 

She  was  a  nice  little  thing !  But  why  she  needed  to 
take  that  affair  so  much  to  heart  he  could  not  under- 
stand. The  physician  had  told  him  she  would  live  but 
a  few  days  at  the  longest.  It  seemed  as  if  when  a  man 
was  married  his  troubles  were  multiplied.  It  was  too 
bad.  She  had  been  very  fond  of  him. 

Sitting  alone  down-stairs  listening  to  the  footsteps 
over  his  head  in  his  wife's  room,  he  ruminated.  He 
did  not  know  what  he  should  do  when  it  was  all  over. 
He  would  go  up-stairs  now  for  a  while  if  Sarah  Hart- 
well  were  not  there.  He  thought  he  knew  women 
pretty  well,  but  she  was  the  one  woman  he  could  not 
face.  He  felt  uncomfortable  if  he  were  in  the  room 
with  her,  and  when  she  looked  at  him  with  those  won- 
derful eyes  of  hers  he  wanted  to  get  into  some  corner, 
anywhere,  out  of  sight.  There  would  be  precious  little 
fun  in  the  world  if  all  women  were  like  her.  Thank 
Heaven  !  they  were  not ! 

There  was  one  he  knew — ah !  but  she  was  a  beauty 
though ! 

When  in  New  York  some  weeks  previous  he  had 
gone  to  see  Mrs.  Cunningham.  Emma  felt  so  badly 
he  thought  he  would  see  what  he  could  do  about  buy- 
ing the  house  for  her.  It  would  cheer  her  up  and  help 


254 


set  things  right  again.  She  had  received  him  very 
graciously,  and  before  he  knew  it  he  had  been  there 
over  two  hours  and  missed  a  business  appointment. 

What  a  glorious  creature  she  was !  What  a  look  she 
gave  him  when  he  took  leave  and  she  invited  him  to 
call  and  confer  with  her  again  about  the  house  !  She 
was  sure  they  could  make  some  arrangement,  as  she  did 
not  care  to  keep  it.  He  would,  too.  What  a  curious 
scar  she  had  on  the  back  of  one  of  her  hands  ! 

He  heard  the  nurse  coming  rapidly  down-stairs. 

"  You  had  better  come  to  your  wife  now,  Mr.  Hem- 
mingway,"  she  said ;  "  I  think  she  is  going  fast." 

He  went  slowly  up-stairs.  Emma  was  propped  up  on 
pillows  and  seemed  to  breathe  with  difficulty.  Sarah 
stepped  back  as  he  moved  to  her  bedside. 

His  wife  stretched  her  hand  feebly  toward  him.  He 
took  it  in  his  own  with  a  shudder.  How  cold  it  was ! 
What  an  awful  pallor  on  her  face  !  Such  a  thin,  pinched 
face !  She  tried  to  speak,  and  he  had  to  bend  over  her 
to  hear  what  she  said.  Was  she  really  so  near  gone  ? 
"  Love  me — when — I'm —  "  came  in  broken  whispers. 

He  fell  on  his  knees  beside  the  bed  and  buried  his 
face.  He  could  not  look  at  hers.  He  began  to  weep. 
He  wished  she  would  not  leave  him.  But  the  hand  he 
held  grew  colder  and  colder,  the  breath  fainter  and 
fainter. 

Finally — how  long  he  had  knelt  there  ! — came  a  cu- 
rious noise  in  her  throat  and  he  heard  her  breath  no 
longer.  He  raised  his  head  to  look  at  her  and  recoiled. 
She  was  looking  directly  at  him  !  Such  a  terrible  look ! 
No.  The  eyes  were  staring  into  his,  but  she  had  gone. 

He  began  to  sob  and  call  to  her  to  come  back  and 


255 


not  leave  him  alone,  but  the  nurse  stepped  forward  and 
closed  her  eyes,  saying  more  gently  than  she  had  ever 
spoken  to  him  before,  "  You  had  better  leave  the  poor 
little  thing  to  us  now,  Mr.  Hemmingway." 

He  went  down-stairs  again  and  threw  himself  on  a 
couch  still  weeping.  What  should  he  do  now  ?  How 
he  should  miss  her !  Poor  little  Emma !  She  was  al- 
ways fragile.  It  had  been  a  terrible  strain  on  his 
nerves,  her  long  illness.  It  was  pretty  hard  for  a  man 
to  see  his  wife  fade  away  day  by  day  before  his  eyes. 

Two  days  later  they  stood  about  her  open  grave. 
Her  husband  was  inconsolable.  As  the  first  shovelful 
of  earth  fell  upon  the  coffin,  he  threw  himself  down  be- 
side it  and  refused  to  leave  it  so  that  the  undertaker's 
assistants  could  finish  their  work.  Some  of  those 
standing  by  were  greatly  affected  by  his  distress  and 
endeavored  to  comfort  him.  But  one  woman,  a  near 
neighbor,  who  knew  all  the  affairs  of  every  one  in  the 
neighborhood,  said  loud  enough  for  them  to  hear : 

"Pity  he  hadn't  had  some  of  this  feeling  a  little 
sooner !  Every  one  knows  that  she  died  of  a  broken 
hcai'l." 

Paul,  Sarah,  and  Everett  stood  by  and  heard  the  re- 
mark. They  looked  at  one  another.  They  knew  she 
had  died  of  self-deception. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

IN  less  than  a  year  afterward  Walter  Hemmingway 
and  his  new  wife,  the  beautiful  widow,  Mrs.  Cunning- 
ham, departed  for  a  prolonged  season  of  travel  in  Eu- 
rope. Great  was  the  sensation  in  Benton  when  the 
news  arrived,  and  every  scrap  of  information  was  seized 
upon  with  avidity. 

Some  of  the  men  said,  "  Well,  he  has  struck  luck ! 
She  is  as  rich  as  Croesus." 

Some  of  the  women  said,  "  He'll  get  paid  yet  for  his 
treatment  of  his  first  wife !  See  if  he  don't ! n 

As  time  passed  on  rumor  after  rumor  penetrated  to 
Benton.  He  was  living  royally  and  flinging  money 
right  and  left.  He  was  drinking  to  excess  in  spite  of 
his  wife's  efforts  to  restrain  him.  But  she  evidently 
did  not  dare  to  deprive  him  of  money.  He  seemed  to 
have  some  hold  over  her,  and  though  she  often  refused 
she  always  yielded  finally  when  he  looked  significantly 
at  the  curious  scar  on  the  back  of  one  of  her  hands. 

It  was  said  she  seemed  to  almost  hate  him  and  at  the 
same  time  to  be  very  much  afraid  of  him.  More  than 
once  when  she  could  not  get  money  quickly  enough  he 
had  taken  her  jewels  and  sold  them  and  made  her  al- 
most frantic.  People  guessed  there  was  little  love  lost 
between  them  and  that  he  would  drink  himself  to  death 
before  long,  but  not  before  he  had  impoverished  her, 
at  the  rate  he  was  going  on. 

256 


2ST 


Dr.  Hartwell  had  passed  to  that  land  whose  echo  of 
retreating  footsteps  is  caught  on  this  side  only  by  those 
who  have  learned  how  to  listen.  It  was  said  that,  al- 
though he  had  been  an  invalid  for  years,  his  end  was 
hastened  by  his  grief  over  the  sad  fate  of  his  brilliant 
daughter  Miriam. 

She  was  hopelessly  insane.  She  was  not  usually 
violent  and  was  kept  at  home  in  her  father's  old  room. 
Sarah  was  her  devoted  attendant,  although  there  were 
times  when  she  could  not  enter  her  sister's  room.  Mir- 
iam would  become  excited  and  rave  over  what  she  had 
stolen  from  her ! 

Most  of  the  time  she  sat  quietly  in  a  dark  corner  of 
the  room,  the  picture  of  abject  misery.  Deep  lines 
were  graven  in  her  face,  her  eyes  that  once  were  so 
bright  and  daring  were  faded  and  blurred  with  contin- 
ual weeping,  her  hair  was  thin  and  gray  and  dry,  her 
tall  commanding  form  feeble  and  bent. 

She  would  sit  for  hours  moving  her  head  from  side 
to  side,  tears  streaming  down  her  face,  her  hands  lying 
loose  and  lifeless  in  her  lap.  Or  she  would  throw  her 
arms  around  herself  as  if  hugging  something  to  her 
bosom  and  rocking  to  and  fro  would  mutter,  "  Too  late ! 
Too  late !  Too  late ! "  with  a  monotony  that  never 
varied.  The  best  medical  advice  had  been  procured  for 
her,  but  nothing  availed. 

"Melancholia,"  the  physicians  said — "an  incurable 
case." 

Paul  Masters  was  the  only  one  who  seemed  to  do  her 
any  good.  The  only  spark  of  interest  in  anything  or  any 
one  she  ever  showed  was  when  he  came  to  see  her ;  and 
she  was  always  better  for  days  after  one  of  his  visits. 


258 


Sarah  Hartwell  had  become  well  known  as  a  speaker 
and  worker  for  all  that  tended  to  help  women,  to  help 
progress  through  women.  She  had  frequently  been 
urged  to  enter  and  become  a  minister  in  the  Unitarian 
Church  as  the  only  one  liberal  enough  in  its  tenets 
to  afford  her  sufficient  scope;  and  the  advantages  of 
connection  with  some  recognized  organization  had  been 
pressed  upon  her. 

But  she  had  gone  quietly  on  as  a  "  minister  at  large," 
as  she  laughingly  called  herself,  feeling  it  imperative 
that,  if  she  should  do  the  best  of  which  she  was  capable, 
she  must  be  free  even  in  appearance  from  all  sectarian 
bias. 

Though  she  half  laughed,  it  was  with  the  deepest 
reverence  that  she  tried  to  fill  her  office  as  "  minister  at 
large,"  for  a  minister  to  her  was  literally  one  who  min- 
isters, and  in  any  and  all  ways  where  the  human  heart 
hungers  and  suffers. 

Helping  to  lif  t  it  to  where  it  could  see  and  lay  hold 
with  its  own  hands  on  the  eternal  exhaustless  supply 
for  every  human  need,  and  which  is  always  the  same 
whatever  the  name  by  which  it  is  called,  was  the  work 
she  reverently  gave  herself  to  do,  desiring  only  that 
through  her  it  might  be  said,  "  The  people  which  sat  in 
darkness  saw  great  light." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

SEVEN  years  had  passed — where  ? — since  that  conver- 
sation with  Paul  after  the  wedding  which  had  been  the 
turning-point  in  Everett's  life. 

What  hopes  and  fears,  what  struggles  and  sufferings, 
what  compensation  and  peace  had  coine  to  him !  He 
had  proved  that  the  way  out  is  the  way  up,  and  that 
wandering  in  the  wilderness  for  a  season  is  inevitable. 
Looking  forward  it  had  been  dark.  Looking  backward 
the  whole  way  was  illumined. 

Seated  with  Paul  under  one  of  the  trees  by  the  river 
path,  he  had  been  reviewing  the  circumstances  of  those 
seven  years.  Retrospection  was  something  he  seldom 
allowed  himself.  The  "  might  have  been  "  was  touch- 
ing poetry,  but  bad  doctrine  as  a  stimulus  to  right  liv- 
ing. "Forward"  must  be  his  constant  impulse  and 
endeavor,  having  no  use  for  the  past  but  to  apply  in 
the  present  the  knowledge  gained  from  its  experiences. 

"  You  knew  me  then,  Paul,  better  than  I  knew  my- 
self," he  said. 

Paul  had  changed  but  little.  The  same  glorious  face 
and  head,  the  same  wonderful  eyes  lit  with  that  soul 
flame  which,  once  lighted,  never  dies  out  but  burns  per- 
petually on  that  altar  within,  which  has  always  one 
adoring  worshiper. 

"  I  saw  your  possibilities  long  before,"  he  said,  "  but 
259 


260 


knew  I  must  wait  till  the  time  was  ripe.  It  is  quite  as 
important  to  know  when  as  what  to  speak.  Uncon- 
sciously you  had  received  your  impetus  in  the  upward 
direction.  '  Every  man  in  his  own  order/  you  know. 
Not  in  mine  or  another's." 

Everett  looked  at  him  with  an  affection — passing  the 
love  of  women  ?  Passing  the  love  of  some  women,  for 
it  was  incapable  of  misjudgment.  The  bond  between 
them  was  soul  quality.  They  knew  each  other. 

"  Could  I  have  seen  the  experiences  before  me,  I 
doubt  if  I  should  have  had  the  courage  to  make  the 
effort  to  live  to  my  best,"  Everett  continued.  "  It  is 
better  that  we  cannot  read  the  future  till  we  are  able 
to  live  it  also." 

"  You  would  have  given  up  in  despair,"  assented 
Paul.  "  But  you  have  had  to  meet  only  one  thing  at  a 
time  as  it  came,  and  it  did  not  come  till  you  were  able 
to  meet  it.  This  will  always  be  the  experience  of  him 
who  proves  his  nature  through  his  own  life  instead  of 
demanding  the  evidence  from  others.  What  we  are, 
we  find  out  through  what  we  can  accomplish.  There 
is  no  break  between  the  human  and  the  divine.  They 
blend  together." 

"  Do  you  think  those  incidents  of  which  I  have  told 
you,  those  moments  of  conscious  existence  beyond  the 
limitations  of  body,  will  become  common  and  normal 
to  those  who  are  making  right  effort  ? "  asked  Everett. 

"  Surely,"  said  Paul,  "  because  they  are  in  themselves 
natural,  not  unnatural.  They  may  be  uncommon  be- 
cause of  the  darkness  and  bondage  of  the  sense-nature. 
But  as  the  soul  awakens  and  struggles  to  escape,  its 
own  efforts  bring  it  in  touch  with  inner  and  higher 


261 


planes  of  being  where  every  sense  is  enlarged  and 
quickened  through  the  wider  scope  afforded  it  for  ex- 
ercise. Time  and  space  are  but  the  fixedness  of  the 
sense-nature.  The  soul  eludes  and  defies  them,  even 
while  using  the  flesh.  Existence  is  a  chain,  link  within 
link,  ending  only  with  that  which  is  eternal — I  AM." 

"  I  wonder — I  marvel  now,  that  one  can  ask  doubt- 
ingly,  '  Is  there  a  soul  f ' "  said  Everett  musingly  after 
they  had  been  silent  for  a  time.  One  of  the  results  of 
their  friendship  was  to  be  able  to  keep  silence  and  still 
commune  with  each  other.  "And  yet  I  used  to  ask 
the  question  more  than  doubtingly,  with  almost  positive 
conviction  there  was  none." 

"  There  is  none  for  many.  It  is  absolutely  non-ex- 
istent for  those  who  are  spiritually  dead,  though  always 
latent  and  waiting  its  development.  They  speak  truly 
who  say  they  have  no  evidence.  Cultivated  intellectu- 
ality without  accompanying  impulse  toward  the  spirit- 
ual but  multiplies  the  evidence  against  the  existence  of 
a  soul." 

Everett's  thoughts  reverted  to  Miriam. 

"Do  you  think  Miss  Hartwell  will  recover?"  he 
asked. 

Paul  did  not  answer  for  a  moment. 

"  I  think,  generally  speaking,"  he  said  finally,  "  such 
cases  as  hers  are  by  no  means  hopeless,  whatever  they 
may  be  from  the  medical  point  of  view,  but  that  there 
are  certain  contingencies  individual  to  her  own  which 
will  prevent  otherwise  possible  recovery.  I  think  her 
continued  and  determined  suppression  of  her  spiritual 
impulses  has  resulted  in  the  almost  complete  separation 
of  the  soul — of  the  higher  from  the  lesser  portions  of 


262 


the  personality,  while  still  wearing  the  flesh.  Denied 
expression  it  is  seeking  and  finding  its  own  world, 
while  what  is  left  still  functions  in  the  visible  one. 
With  all  her  brilliancy  and  power  she  has  been  for 
years  but  half  alive.  The  animation  yet  imparted  to 
that  corpse  sitting  in  the  darkened  room,  through  the 
slender  thread  which  still  holds  it  to  that  which  has 
gone,  is  being  slowly  withdrawn ;  and  it  will  go  back 
to  the  dust  from  whence  it  came.  Resurrection  and 
ascension  are  from  the  dead,  not  of  the  dead." 

Everett  felt  a  momentary  sadness,  momentary  be- 
cause followed  by  the  sound  of  the  mighty,  majestic 
rhythm — out  of  discord,  order ;  out  of  order,  harmony ; 
out  of  harmony,  victory.  The  "  survival  of  the  fittest" 
was  no  hypothesis,  no  merely  physical  fact,  but  a 
spiritual  truth  as  well. 

Paul  turned  to  him  with  a  smile  of  benignant  sweet- 
ness. 

"  The  pains  of  crucifixion  for  you,  my  friend,  were 
severe,  but  one  stage  of  it  is  past  and  the  resurrection 
of  that  stage  has  come.  You  have  been  new-born — are 
a  new  man.  Look  back,  and  then  at  what  is  opening 
before  you  now.  Would  you  have  been  spared  the 
labor  and  travail  of  the  birth,  if  you  could  ? " 

"No."  * 

There  was  no  ecstatic  willingness  for  martyrdom  in 
Everett's  reply,  only  the  calm  intelligent  assent  to  a 
seen  and  felt,  therefore  doubly  proved  truth. 

"Do  you  remember  what  I  told  you  then,"  Paul 
continued — "that  you  needed  a  strong  woman  and 
when  you  were  worthy  of  her  you  would  have  her  ? " 

Everett  turned  eagerly  toward  him. 

"  Do  you  think —  "  he  began,  but  Paul  went  on. 


"  You  did  not  know  then,  you  could  not  recognize  a 
strong  woman.  You  had  first  to  struggle  and  attain. 
Emma  Haines  was  the  woman  of  your  first  feeble 
stirrings  through  the  contrast  she  offered  to  your  life 
and  associates.  Miriam  Hartwell  was  the  woman  of 
your  awakened  and  developing  intellectual  nature. 
Helen  Cunningham  was  the  woman  of  strife — the  com- 
bat between  your  allied  ethical  and  sensuous  (not  sen- 
sual) natures,  which  your  invigorated  intellect  quick- 
ened, and  your  spiritualized  soul.  The  strong  woman 
is  she  who  can  renounce  and  stand  firm ;  not  she  who 
refuses  to  feel,  but  who,  instead,  feels  the  instincts,  the 
impulses  of  every  part  of  our  composite  nature ;  feels, 
and  rules  through  her  perception,  her  constantly  grow- 
ing realization  of  the  nothingness  of  the  material  as 
compared  to  the  allness  of  the  spiritual.  She  is  likely 
to  live  her  mortal  life  alone,  for  she  can  mate  only  with 
her  kind.  Seldom  will  she  find  the  strong  man  who  is 
her  complement.  She  sinks  the  office  of  wife  for  one 
in  that  of  mother  for  many,  of  priestess  for  the  race. 
Inspired  herself,  she  inspires." 

There  was  a  reverence,  an  exaltation  in  Paul's  voice 
and  manner  which  made  Everett  observe  him  with  awe. 
A  hope  he  had  cherished  since  the  time  Sarah  Hartwell 
had  burst  upon  him  as  "  the  woman  clothed  with  the 
sun,"  but  which  he  had  hardly  dared  to  cherish  so  far 
above  him  did  she  seem,  stirred  with  new  life  when 
Paul  referred  to  what  he  had  previously  said.  But  it 
died  again  as  he  went  on.  With  all  his  soul  he  rever- 
enced her.  How  could  he  approach  her  ? 

Paul  leaned  forward  and  placed  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  It  is  only  the  new-born,  the  resurrected  man  who 


264 


knows  what  love  is,"  he  said.  "  To  renounce  and  stand 
firm  is  to  receive  the  baptism  where  the  heavens  open 
and  reveal  its  birthplace.  It  is  not  indigenous  to  the 
senses.  The  time  has  come  when  you  are  worthy." 

Everett  sprang  to  his  feet  with  the  sudden  joy  that 
flooded  his  whole  being. 

"  Dare  I  ask  ?  Dare  I  speak  ? "  he  said  in  a  hushed, 
tremulous  tone. 

"  Speak  with  your  soul — she  has  no  need  of  words — 
and  look  for  her  in  the  sunrising,"  replied  Paul. 

Everett  turned  and  walked  a  few  steps.  Had  the 
time  really  come  when  he  might  dare?  He  faced 
about  again  and  Paul  was  disappearing  down  the  path. 

He  went  home,  that  home  which  was  a  sanctuary 
where  he  had  long  worshiped.  All  night  he  pondered. 
He  felt  unworthiness  and  yet  he  knew  he  had  honestly 
striven  to  live  to  his  best.  Hours  passed  by  and  he  was 
not  sure.  How  would  she  receive  him  if  he  dared  ? 

In  the  darkness  surrounding  him  where  he  sat  a  faint 
light  began  to  glow,  brighter  and  brighter,  yet  soft 
and  warm,  weaving  itself  into  a  sphere  which  at  last 
opened,  and  he  saw  the  woman  of  the  heavenly  city — 
her  face — Sarah's  face — and  she  held  out  to  him  wel- 
coming arms. 

He  sprang  forward ;  the  glow  faded,  and  he  was  in 
darkness  again. 

Going  to  the  window  he  saw  the  first  faint  indica- 
tions of  day.  With  his  face  toward  the  east,  with  his 
whole  soul  flowing  toward  her,  he  dared.  With  a  love 
purified  in  the  furnace,  he  asked  that  if  she  found  him 
worthy  she  would  come  to  him  in  the  river  path. 

He  watched  the   daylight   growing   stronger  and 


265 


stronger.  The  perfect  stillness  of  the  night  began  to 
be  broken.  He  left  the  house  and  went  to  the  river 
path. 

All  was  quiet  save  the  stir  of  nature  which  comes 
with  the  dawn.  He  stood  motionless  under  a  great 
tree  and  waited.  Just  as  the  sun  burst  above  the  hori- 
zon he  saw  her  coming  toward  him,  clothed  in  its  radi- 
ance. Its  first  rays  illumined  her  face,  her  hair,  filling 
her  garments  with  a  golden  light. 

He  stretched  his  arms  toward  her. 

Without  a  word  she  came  and  laid  her  hands  in  his. 

When  the  first  sun-rays  penetrated  Paul  Masters' 
room  they  found  him  awake,  his  bed  untouched.  He 
was  looking  out  over  the  tree-tops  far,  far  out  beyond 
the  range  of  physical  sight.  As  the  rays  shot  athwart 
the  wall  and  touched  with  a  new  beauty  after  their  sleep 
of  the  night  the  flowers  and  shrubs  in  the  garden  be- 
low, a  look  of  pain  passed  over  his  face,  passed  and  was 
gone,  leaving  it  transformed.  It  was  radiant,  glorified. 

The  messenger  is  human,  the  message  divine. 


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